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oshi-nakadapiroki · 2 years ago

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Nakada Hiroki Channel Nakacha no Ma #45 2023.8.25 Notes [Eng translation]

≫ Intro:

Again, he tweeted with very short notice soz

He only took one pic with Yuuta at Fuji-Q, although he feels like it's not a pic worth tweeting (at least we got the one Ryouga took)

He was set on not riding any of the attractions so he told Yuuta he'd be waiting instead while they stood in line and waited and waited and waited and then the moment both he and Rei got the safety bar lowered on them, it started pouring down like crazy lol ☔☔️

Hiroki is not the type to ride any of the attractions anyway, not just rollercoasters ❌️🎢❌️ And they only had a short time before rehearsals and all the attractions had like a 20 minute line (The spinning coffee cups are enough for him)

Again, he's wearing his zigzag headband ✨️ He just got home from rehearsals

His sideburns are looking fierce (also I feel like he's gotten a tan on his forehead and I can't unsee it)

The weather was hot but he feels it's still hotter in Tokyo. Besides, it was very windy around Fuji and they had rain the first day

There were lots of bugs but nothing crazy, lots of dragonflies

We get both talk of Fuji and his widow's peak 🗻 It's called Fujibitai in Japanese

This month's beer: Spring Valley White Silk Ale 500ml 🍺

He's gonna get more busy from now on with Suehirogari rehearsals and then Furuba which he hasn't gotten to memorizing his script yet

He doesn't know why he's bringing it up again but he's remembering how it was around the time when SRS22 had wrapped up and he had to cancel a play for the first time in his life (Hoshifuru Machi and Parade) and tabloids wrote that it was because he had "too many lines in the script" - which was absolutely not the case! He still thinks about the drama surrounding it til this day 💔 He won't make statements but sometimes he wants to just let it all out 🥺

It's not a matter of having an agency, he knew it was gonna be difficult to go freelance already

Sudden fireworks in the distance! 🎆 Then he realizes his house might get found out if he tells us there's fireworks in the surrounding area 🤫

He tries to convince himself that fireworks can be heard from quite a distance

Someone does the pinpon dash in the comment section lmao 🏃‍♂️💨💨

He decides to drink some more to shut himself up

Speaking of Shizuoka (someone mentioned in the comments), around 7PM last night he saw his first proper fireworks display of the year 🎆 Apparently they have fireworks when there's an event at Fuji-Q Conifer Forest

He tries to google how far fireworks can be seen heard from a distance - 4 km (and i oop)

He's already forgotten how much time has passed since Tensura performances, he loses track of time when he's deep in rehearsals

Even when ppl say they're freelance, they usually have at least someone tending to them somewhat - he doesn't have anyone like that

Chaba offers to act his manager 🙌

He's happy that we enjoyed his Benimaru and action scenes

He won't say that he looked cool on stage but he will admit his swordsmanship was beautiful

Apparently the old school he used to train under put alot of pressure on its elegance in particular, it's also important to have the right breathing technique

It's also about sliding your feet; in 2.5D, alot of actors are good at moving their upper body but has it go to waste because they can't move their feet just as well

"Everything you do starts with your feet"

"No matter how cool you look on top, if your legs look lame, it's lame"

When he went to see the Touken stage once, he thought that Suzuki Hiroki had a really beautiful technique

More talk about how to move your feet when wearing a hakama

He'll gladly tell us all more about how to stand properly

≫ Food corner:

This month's snack: Gorgonzola dipped in honey 🧀🍯

He used to be obsessed with gorgonzola back in the day, he has recently gotten into eating it again (but he can't have it without honey)

Recently, he's been having prosciutto ham, melon and burrata cheese (as seen)

Overall, he's been having alot of melon, peach and pear recently (shine muscat grapes are too expensive) 🍈🍑🍐

He also likes persimmons

Then again, he doesn't like the sourness of some peaches, and the pit is hard to remove

He finds the sweetness of some peaches compared to melon to be completely different

Peach pit = bouncy ball size

How to crack open a peach or avocado starring Nakada Hiroki

He thinks women particularly likes peaches

Someone calls him chef Hiroki in the chat, even though he doesn't cook that much; all he did was cut up the melon and ham, and poured some olive oil and salt and pepper on it lol

Okayama's specialty seems to be muscat grapes

Someone suggests that he'd do a Hiroki's dinner show but he thinks that would be alot of preparation

He used to eat an insane amount of pears when he was a child and then he got explosive diarrhea 💩

He likes his pears a bit chewy

≫ Tensura:

His hakama did indeed almost slide off during senshuuraku because he was hurrying up the stairs, he wasn't cautions enough with the hakama - they fixed it with magic tape/velcro though

He thought he had ripped it but he hadn't

He did stumble a few times off-stage

Benimaru wears two layered hakama anyways so he thinks it would be fine even if it ripped

Benimaru's outfits were super easy to move around in

Although the footwear were really difficult; he's more used to wearing tabi, so wearing setta (leather soled sandals) was a challenge (jumping was especially difficult)

Some suggested he'd wear rubber soles but it would just get flappy

He forgets what the second toe is called and calls it the ring toe

His toes would clench the setta straps 💢 but it would tingle like it was forming a bruise

Again, he's relishing in how easy it was to wear the overall outfit

At any rate, he finds heels super difficult to wear, particularly as Masaferry and his knee-high boots (they were sexy tho) - that might have been his most difficult one to wear when it comes to footwear

Shoutout to all the ladies who know the pain when the arch of the foot/shoe is rly narrow making it unstable

Shinonome was also difficult in terms of foot strain (the comments point out how he had to change footwear during the performance of Rusted Armor, idk if it was during the 1st or 2nd run)

He's contemplating whether it's more difficult to wear platform sandals or not

≫ Suehirogari:

Akashi is gonna be running this time!

He starts talking about the layout of the stage before realizing in the chat that it hasn't actually been officially announced yet lol (fans have sort of figured it out nevertheless)

The stage wasn't as big as he expected

Definitely bring a raincoat and towel in case of bad weather + lots of water

Shoutout to Beer Ball duo Kensuke and Akira lmao 🍻

He's done numerous live shows indoors already but being outdoors may bring a whole new set of difficult situation

The seats are really close to the stage but it's quite wide instead (unlike Yoyogi Gymnasium and Saitama Super Arena), however it's all same ground level

Also, the setlist is gonna be a bit of a challenge

He thinks it's because he joined rehearsals halfway through, his number of appearances might have decreased, but there's gonna be alot of songs with everyone in it (me: *praying it's not gonna be like Tori in SRS22 Fukuoka/Hiroshima/2nd half of Tokyo and he was off-stage for a good 50 minutes 😭*)

He apologizes due to the various circumstances that he probably won't be on stage much and seems to blame himself for it 🥺

Because of it, he'll show us his best Akashi when he's actually on stage 💖

If Akashi ever got a tanki, it'd just be him and the audience sleeping. He'd be playing relaxing music like when you're at the dentist lol

"Take a nap, have a snack, byebye"

He got a message on LINE from Ryouga

He went out to an izakaya with Ryouga and Nagata - stay tuned for what they had to eat!

Who gave him the banyanya cat - stay tuned!

He was also given a Snorlax Pokémon card because it looked like Akashi (it was not from Haru-chan, Kurumu or Kensuke; if it'd been from Imari, he'd been grossed out lmao)

He saw Mizue Kenta (Yamanbagiri Chougi's actor) again after a long time! (He used to also be at OscarPro)

≫ Birthday event etc:

He didn't do a gaming stream last month either but he's planning on making it up to us again

He thinks he looks like a yankee because he had his eyebrows dyed for Benimaru and it still shows. Since his own brows are rly thick and the colour comes out more naturally if they're more blonde, they ended up bleaching them a bit too much apparently

He seems proud to be complimented on his new shirt (it's a new Adidas launch)

It's not officially confirmed but he's 80% sure that he's gonna host this year's birthday event on Oct 21st (Tokyo) and Oct 29th (Osaka) 🎂

This might be his first local solo event - or not since he had one in Kyoto where Kurumu starred as guest (it was around the timing of Kishou Hongi)

He thought it'd better to have the two split up instead of the following day since they're in different places

"Don't force yourself to come" SIR I WILL TRAVEL ACROSS THE WORLD

Since the Osaka event is right around Halloween, everyone wants him to cosplay

He won't be bringing a guest (MC maybe?)

Cosplay suggestions: Uma Musume, Gojo, Akashi, Sephiroth, Haru (Rabbits Kingdom), Howl, Hamtaro, Goro Majima

He also wants to cos from Twisted Wonderland! Apparently some of the make-up/costume staff had told him he could do Azul (!!!) He doesn't know who he is tho 😭 When the chat tells him he's a megane character, he doesn't want to 🙅‍♂️ He doesn't think he's particularly suited for megane characters himself

Instead of Trey-senpai, he calls him Toilet-senpai

He wants to cosplay Malleus! And Idia

(Personally, I'd like to see him do Azul, Trey or Vil.. Some people suggested Cater as well. He'd probably do a good Sebek too)

Again, he's mentioning Meguro Ren and his hair (see Natsu no Jin Nagomi P2)

Happy Birthday to everyone born in August 🎉

"Enjoy your youth! Enjoy your birthday and your birthmonth this year and make the most wonderful summer memories, together with me!"

He's having trouble cutting the stream (as usual)

He calls Ryouga and Nakata his ochibi-chans 🥺 kawachii

≫ 2nd half of the stream:

Wife time!

He's having a particularly mouldy piece of cheese

Tori told him he went to the sauna yesterday

Shunya gave him the (secret) Pokémon card! He kept it because he didn't want to throw it away but then he passed it on to Ryousei

Apparently Ryousei has his seat right behind Hiroki at rehearsals (chat: it's like a school setting 😭 Touken Gakuen)

We get a short Ryousei impression, kawaii kawaii kawaii

Hiroki's off to pick some tea leaves and get some more beer

This month's second beer: Spring Valley Hojun 496 500ml 🍺🍺

He thinks it's fine if you don't cosplay for Halloween, just clipping something small in your hair is enough

No one would wanna take cheki with him if he cosplayed for real

The event is not gonna take place at the Hulic Hall Theatre this time

He still doesn't believe we want to see him cosplay

It might be the first event he's held in a while that won't require masks (it might depend on the venue though)

He asks if we want to go without masks or see-through partition screen; an overwhelming response for no partition screen!

What if he himself has to wear a mask if there's no partition screen?

He tries to take a peek at the cheese's calorie amount and end up dropping some of it on the floor

Cheese is low in calories so he thinks it's good for when you're on a diet (he himself is proof of it lol), protein is important as well

He hasn't been able to go to the gym at all recently

≫ Tensura and Suehirogari:

Someone mentions the Oni zap in the chat, it seems to have been part of the adlib scene in one of the Tensura performances (8.13 matinée; they had only done it once previously during rehearsals), they had way too fun with the adlibs, to the point they didn't even have to speak with one another

You can tell Hiroki rly likes both Ryo and Hagino, the three of them kept chattering away backstage

They wanted to do the adlib scene (w/ Benimaru, Souei, Hakurou) because it gave a glimpse into the everyday life of the Ogre clan, they wanted to show the warmth and bond they shared as a family, but scenes like that had to be condensed and kept getting cut down

He doesn't know who came up with the adlib idea but they kept it real each time because that's what it's like to be around family

He thinks it's super fun to do adlibs with the help of everyone, after all you can't do adlibs by yourself

It's the same with Toumyu adlib although there's more regulations and it has to be ever more condensed (probably considering how many they are by now)

That being said, he's not saying there weren't restrictions to Tensura but, he just wanted to try to convey what he felt like for the character

There might just be someone who breaks the adlib restrictions in upcoming Toumyu performances, it's gonna be hilarious (a few guesses in the chat it's gonna be Onimaru or Ichi-nii). It's gonna be something that they create together with the audience? (Like a call and response-type of thing??)

He hasn't been getting involved with the new swords at all (might be because he joined halfway through)

He thinks Rei is serious and hardworking, he doesn't understand how he's actually younger (Hiroki is 1 year older), he's always rehearsing, he's very conscious of hierarchical relationships and is very polite (speaking keigo)

But they're always being silly together lol

He really wanted Hiroki to go on the attraction but he stopped before even queuing up. Rui Kihara (Heshikiri Hasebe's actor) went on the ride too

He makes a comment about another Kihara (Minoru) who's a weather forecaster and disaster prevention officer together with the mascot Sorajiro (it's a well known evening weather programme broadcasted in Tokyo)

He and Rui has been talking alot lately

It's only been a few days since he joined rehearsals so there's lots of ppl he haven't talked to yet. He's shy around new people and have been told he's difficult to get to talk so he's been trying to reach out to them himself. He's often told that as soon as he gets talking, their impression of him changes

"Sake suki?" ww (if he'd said no, that would've been the end to the conversation lbr)

He feels like he's gotten closer to Ryouga and Nakata since last year

He invited Tori to come when they went to the izakaya but got rejected cuz he was sleeping lol

He's only seen Daigo once at rehearsals so far but he's nice

Hiroki likes polite youngsters 👶

Keita's also very polite

He thinks he's contradicting himself because he wasn't very polite when he was younger. He talks about how "back in my days", you addressed your senpai by using the -san suffix (This part of the stream was kinda confusing to me since I'm rly not into Johnny & Associates and their manners regarding the -san/-kun debate for senpai/kouhai)

Even he himself would've been pissed off if someone instantly called him by -kun back then

He thinks it's about 50/50 who calls him -san/kun atm; Ryousei says -kun, Sasamori Hiroki says Nakada-san (but that's probably since they're both Hiroki lol), the other Hirokis call him Hiroki-kun though, Seiichiro probably calls him -san

He can keep on talking about who calls who what for hours on end

Seiichiro taught both him and Nobunaga when they were trying to copy and rehearse the dances, apparently he was Nobunaga's caretaker of the day

Nobunaga recorded their dance rehearsal (looking at it from a bird's-eye perspective helps him notice things)

In short: they all get along well (he kept looking at them with a warm smile 🥺)

There aren't that many people around his age so he was happy when there was someone for once who was older (Hagino? Haru-chan?)

"Even though I'm getting older, I'm still on the older side"

He thinks he's the same as spi and Imari; Mokkun is 1 year older; Rei is 1 year younger, then Tori is 2 years younger. He thinks Araki is 3 years older (Imari is born in 1988 tho, Mokkun is also born in 1987, Tori is actually born in 1991, and Araki is 4 years older) And don't forget Haru-chan!

"Hiroki, do you like older or younger?" "Both" 👀

He hasn't seen Araki recently

He checks the message on LINE from Ryouga

He's reminded of the fated meeting he had with that old man in Malaysia, he'd like to make a DVD out of it (pls pls pls do a special one like the camping DVD). Apparently he did take some videos with the help of his tripod, he's just unsure of who he gave the video data to afterwards - turns out he put the data on a SSD and gave it to one of his usual cameramen

He needs to update his FC site and its banner pic (it's still featuring SRS22), we just have to wait a bit for it since he's doing it all on his own

He absolutely has no camping footage left ❌️🏕❌️

His nails have gotten long again! 💅 And they're shiny shiny (he has not painted them)

Some Chaba is bullying him in the chat to give up on the FC site already (he won't!)

"Don't give up!" This is related to a commercial quote by Maya Miki (a famous actress who is currently represented by Hiroki's former agency, Oscar Promotion). He met her at a year-end party some years ago, she was nice

He doesn't know how to remove the banner. It's difficult to do programming, even though he went to a tech high school

So what did he eat with Ryouga and Nagata at the izakaya? He's the senpai so of course he treated them (he then gets off-track again lol)

Someone wanted to eat at Bamiyan but they've got that in Tokyo

Apparently houtou noodle soup is a well-known dish around Fuji-Q (aka it originates from Yamanashi)

He makes up a word pun of houtou (the dish) being pronounced the same as 宝刀 (treasured sword) so if you come and see the houtou, you can also eat houtou! Let's make it go viral #Houtou mi ni itte houtou tabeta

Some Chaba worries he might say it during the curtain call but he assures us he won't. Then he starts thinking about it and realizes he might be able to say it. If he does end up saying it, all of us better laugh for him

He want us Chaba to take pride in being Chaba so don't be embarrassed if he says it

Not hokori as in dust but hokori as in pride

So what did he eat with Ryouga and Nagata at the izakaya? A. Basashi, B. Karaage, C. Umaki. Answer: Umaki!

He's had basashi too but he seems to like umaki more - although he didn't know what it was the first time he heard of it, he tries to play it off as he did know, he just had to ask about it (chat: that's the same as not knowing lol)

He saw quite a few of the uchiwa at Tensura (not so much on the second floor though because it was too high up)! If he had more time, he thinks he would have been able to see all of them

Since both Souei and Rimuru's penlight were blue, he felt a bit lonely having the red ones, but seeing the red scattered all around the audience made him feel very happy, supported and encouraged ❤️

It became a good memory for him so he'd be glad if we felt the same

"Thank you, but it's all thanks to you"

Red stands out alot more than Akashi's light purple, even he himself can't distinguish Akashi's purple (unless you have an uchiwa as well)

He'll be able to tell if we all wear purple jerseys, alt. Raiha jersey (he thinks they're quite fashionable) but he wants us all to wear what we're comfortable with

He doesn't know why Akashi gives off a jersey vibe (me: camp DVD)

Jerseys are perfect for people who don't want to work, and it shields you from getting sunburnt

If he'd be allowed to decide, he'd do the full performance in his jersey

He also wants to be able to get around the place on a bicycle or segway since the stage is so wide

Or a pulled rickshaw or roomba lmao

This month's rollcall was just an ordinary one 👋

He takes a moment to appreciate the snooze button on his phone

He hasn't been doing any gaming streams recently but the next one he's gonna do is gonna be a game called Only Down 🎮

The kitty cat from Stray is currently on hold

He might stream tomorrow (Saturday) or next week (Tuesday)

There had been a request for him to play Only Up so that's why he's doing Only Down

"I know that you are all busy and that it's not easy, but you made the time to come and see me, same as for spending money, and I'd like to thank you all. I am filled with gratitude for all of you, which is not something I take for granted. So I will continue to do my best to make you happy and create good memories with you."

"Thank you for ordering Natsu no Jin goods too!" 💖

He'll keep on working hard, even though Akashi might not appear much - then again he said the same about Benimaru and many said the opposite so maybe it's just him

Ah, necklace (iykyk)

Maybe it's because for him, behind the scenes, the amount of energy it took has been alot easier than in previous productions, so maybe that's why he felt like he was off-stage alot - the action didn't even tire him in the slightest

He judges the amount of his performance based on physical fatigue, but even if he doesn't appear in alot of scenes, he wants to impress and show you such wonderful scenes that it will be burned into your mind

"Maybe I have a presence, Idk. I am tall though"

≫ Furuba:

Ayame is a person with royal dignity 👑

This is the first time he's ever had so few rehearsals for a play (Furuba) so he's a bit scared. He'll have about a week of rehearsals (even fewer than when he did Motherland)

He doesn't think he'll appear more than he did last time (which means we'll get like three main Ayame scenes)

He also wants to wear the wedding dress!!!! 🚨🚨🚨🚨

He doesn't want to spoil it but he thinks this time it's more about Yuki's story

He hasn't had the time to properly look at the script yet

Let's enjoy the second half of the year together!

He's glad they got to tell a peaceful story with Tensura

He's gonna upload the picture of Yuuta later

Lastly, he blew us all a kiss! 💋

≫ Monthly curtain call:

Akashi fan ≠ Chaba 🍵

He's gonna sleep like a log tonight (especially after being outdoors for so long, but do take measures against the heat)!

#this post doesn't have bullet points because it exceeded the max limit lmao #if you made it to the end of this THANKS #i spent FAR too much time on this #feedback on translation is always welcome #nakada hiroki #nakacha no ma #translation #my post

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aces-to-apples · 2 years ago

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Damn I’m disappointed you’re falling in the camp of going from threatening an abuse victim with a lawyer and telling them to shut up, I had hoped with stance on other fandom harassment you would empathize.

............hey remember when I first got into Star Wars fandom and ended up following and being pseudo-friends with goddamn clonehub of all the fucking people and participated in a fucking smear campaign against several other artists for such "crimes" as "drawing icky art that made me, personally, uncomfortable"? Can you even imagine how fucking embarrassing that is to recall as a actual adult rn?? I literally want to tear my skin off sometimes remembering that I was absolutely certain that my personal discomfort and fucking ignorance was more important than other peoples' right to just fucking exist and vibe in their corner of fandom and I think we should all take a minute to contemplate how much more of a goddamn nightmare my loud obnoxious ass would be if I'd actually ended up full-on puriteen..... Fucking harrowing, isn't it?

And you know what? Maybe I'll end up having backed the wrong metaphorical horse this time as well and find out that I once again am running in the same circles and happily interacting with yet another goddamn bully. Shit's fucking embarrassing, if nothing else, lemme tell you. (God remember that bitchy little "ah shucks weren't you and clonehub friends once?? What happened???" anon ask a while back? Talk about harrowing lmao.)

But I've been running in the same circles as Jer for years, I'm friends with several people who've been Friends-friends with her for years and even decades who vouch for her, and I've witnessed several hate and harassment campaigns run against her already. And I don't know any of these people crawling out of the woodwork to start shit so idk. I'm going with my gut here. Maybe it'll work out like shit again. Or maybe I'll dodge the bullet this time and not participate in a vindictive smear campaign against people who make the "wrong art" or whatever the fuck.

And like.

Hey, Anonymous Goddamn Citizen, you ever considered that I'm fucking tired? That I'm tired to my goddamn bones of how every reactionary bitch on this planet with an internet connection can and will just make heinous shit up about random fucking people that they don't like and convince enough people to jump on the dogpile to the point where the truth doesn't even matter anymore?? Do you how many times I've witnessed this in the last three years alone??? I'm fucking tired man! I'm tired!!

So like. Idk. Maybe fuck your snotty ham-fisted attempt at a guilt-trip? And fuck your manipulative, performative bullshit "disappointment" with Internet Rando #7014?? Maybe even fuck you personally???

I mean, I don't know you, because if I did then you wouldn't be on anon, you'd be in my DMs actually trying to talk to me instead of, in all likelihood, hunting through Flamethrower's posts and copy-pasting this shit into the inbox of everyone who reblogs her posts or whatever. Like that's usually how I see this shit go. And believe me, I have seen this shit go. If we were friends, and therefore someone whose opinion I care about, you wouldn't be hiding behind an anonymous function, taking advantage of the observable fact that I am fundamentally incapable of not having both an opinion and the last word.

Yet here you are.

And here I am, answering the bait, as is my custom. But hey, I extra super deluxe mega promise that if I end up on the wrong side of history here, I'll do the whole YouTuber Apology song and dance and you'll get to smugly say I fuckin told you so. I'm sure that'll make you very happy.

'Til then, just as an unnecessary bit of extra snotty pedantry to sign off: I'm actually hypoempathetic, so feel free to hold your breath waiting for me to empathize with literally anything. Funnily enough, I'm actually trying not to let my personal knee-jerk reactions dictate my sense of morality and ethics these days. Just as a fun change from Anti-Lite Apples of 2017-2019ish??

#if i'm wrong then i'm wrong and i'm sure i'll feel very embarrassed #fortunately i'm literally nobody and nothing and not a goddamn person is basing THEIR opinions on whatever dumb shit I say #anon asks #answered asks #by apples #fandom slapfight #fandom harassment #gee apples how come you're more inclined to believe people that you know and like instead of these randos you've never even seen before???#golly i don't know that's a tough one why AREN'T i just tossing over a years-old relationship #with someone who has been targeted over and over by hate and harassment campaigns run by insufferable gremlins #for actual goddamn years in favor of literal strangers whose word means absolutely nothing to me?? that's a doozy.#maybe you better grab an abacus and sit down to do THAT math idk #long post

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exsqueeze-me · 5 years ago

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Could you do a Raditz sfw alphabet?

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He's really affectionate once you establish a relationship with him. This might change occasionally if he's having a hissy fit, but usually he loves to kiss and snuggle you all day.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He's an okay friend. He'll pick fun at you constantly, even if you do tell him to stop. But he's a protective friend too. He's always there if you really need him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Looooves cuddling, but only with his mate. He might get a bit bitchy if you try to cuddle him in front of others though.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Domestic Raditz is best Raditz tbh. But it's hard to get Raditz into a domestic type of lifestyle.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Honestly, if he wants to leave you, he'll just disappear. Saiyans don't really 'break up'. They just leave their previous mate and either live alone from then on or go find a new mate.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Once he gives you a bond mark, he's staying. It will take him a long time to get to that point though. He doesn't understand the whole 'marriage' thing either, but he'll do the ceremony if it makes you happy.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He tries to be gentle with you, but your just so fragile. He's afraid to hurt you in any way, so as long as you don't try to get under his skin, he's a pretty sweet guy.. usually.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Yes, please hug this man. But beware, Raditz is one of those people who if you hug them too long, they'll start crying. He has feelings, he just hates showing them and they all come out when he's in your arms.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He thinks love is shared through actions, so you might not hear it from him as much as you want.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Please let him know you will never leave him before you go to talk to any other male. If you don't he will either recluse back to himself for a while, or nearly foam at the mouth with anger as he tries to fight the competition.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He always kisses with tongue at first, he doesn't know that you don't have to do that. After you tell him that that's not always what you do, he commonly gives you little smooches.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Depends. We've seen how he was with Gohan. But if it was his own kid, I feel like he would go above and beyond for them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

You won't be able to get up until he does. He clings in his sleep, so prepare to be sleeping til noon. Once he wakes up, he might give you a quick kiss before he's making a bee line for the kitchen.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He usually curls around you protectively, but sometimes he likes to be held as he drifts off. He's pretty active during the day, so once he's laying down, he's usually ready to just sleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It takes him a hot second to open up. He has to know you won't pick him apart for his weaknesses.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He throws hissy fits all the time, but it's hard to really piss him off. Even if you do, unless it was really bad, he's usually better by the next day.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers everything, but at the worst times. For example, if it's your birthday, he won't remember until the day is almost over, then panic as he tries to make it up to you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

That one time you cradled him into your arms and just let him cry everything out. He couldn't even feel ashamed afterwards because you were telling him how much you loved and accepted him the whole time. It's when he knew you were really there to stay.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Hella protective. If he truly loves you, he values your life above all else. If anything were to happen to you, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. If you wanna protect him, just let him cry on you when he needs to. That's honestly all he needs.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He usually let's you take the lead and just follow along with whatever you want. Also, don't let him know if you want gifts or whatever unless you're ready for gifts of obliterated enemies. He's kinda like a cat bringing you their hunt.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He's got a nasty habit of knocking things over by just walking around. It might be him underestimating the size of a walkway or the swish of his tail, but he knocks thing over all the time.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He might be insecure about a lot of things, but his looks isn't one of them. He doesn't care what literally anyone else says, he thinks he's the hottest thing on this side of the galaxy.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Oh, absolutely. If he got used to you being around and you suddenly dissapeared, he would be a broken shell of who he once was.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He will melt where he stands if you pet his hair. He has to trust you enough to let you near his hair, but once he let's you, go ham.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

There isn't much that really gets him, but if he had to pick anything, it's if someone dosen't know when to leave him alone. He doesn't want to be bothered when he's throwing a temper tantrum and if you do, its only gonna piss him off more.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He clings. He wraps his arms, legs, and tail around you when he sleeps. He also snores, so get ready for that.

#Raditz #dbz

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starker-stories · 5 years ago

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🎉Happy Birthday To Me🎂

Reposting this for Tony’s 50th birthday

May 29, 1970

Tony wasn’t one to pout. He would deny it to his dying day. Well, his re-dying day. Honestly, it was ridiculous. He’d spent most of his life with one day never mattering more than another. Especially this one. He was usually busy trying to find an excuse not to come home from school after term ended. Or busy with an internship. Or busy working. Or just generally busy. Which he should be today.

But life had slowed down a little. A little more once he and Peter moved in together. With his lover waiting in bed for him every night, he rarely stayed up past midnight in the workshop. Peter insisted that he eat at least one meal a day. Which he did. Breakfast. With Peter. Which he did today. Exactly as usual. Like every single other day of the year.

Well, not every one. Major holidays were observed now since Peter enjoyed observing them. And Peter’s birthday was certainly never missed. How could Tony forget the day they finally got together? After he’d valiantly waited three years, until the boy turned twenty, to ask him on a date. The birthday dinner ended with Tony asking him to move in with him. When they hadn’t even dated. When they hadn’t even kissed. When they hadn’t even done anything yet. Rushing ahead of the typical schedule, earned him a laughing, but emphatic ‘yes’. Tony had never been one to do anything typical.

After they got home from dinner, Tony gave Peter his first birthday present. Before they lived together, Peter’s birthday fell in the category of everyone else’s — usually forgotten and then made up with a ‘get yourself something nice’. Tony’d put the kid on his personal account. Ostensibly the account access was for the kid’s lab budget and school expenses. But it was unlimited, the same as Pepper’s was, even after their ‘til death do you part’ divorce.

His twentieth birthday present was something ridiculously expensive. Peter objected of course, but stopped when he noticed that Tony had actually been hurt at his rejection. It wasn’t that he was trying to buy Peter’s affection, it was that picking out the perfect present had taken a lot of work. And in this case, writing the perfect inscription (when Tony’s mind didn’t exactly work in that direction!) Of course it was expensive. Tony found exactly what he wanted to get for Peter (and wrote words; actual romantic words!) It wasn’t like he’d ever looked at a price tag in his life. Or that he wasn’t a billionaire. A million five was nothing to him. And it was pretty. He knew Peter would love the beauty and appreciate the craftsmanship of the delicate wheels and cogs turning underneath the glass. He simply hoped the back of the watch would prove equally as beautiful of a reminder of both his birthday and the change in their relationship. The tears Peter cried proved that.

That was the end of the price tag argument. Which meant that every year Tony spent months before August tenth planning. (To be honest, he started thinking about it on August eleventh). Twenty-one was a bit more modest. Peter had been asking to learn his way around the garage. Tony found the perfect thing to teach him on. He bought an absolute wreck of a ’70 Dodge Coronet convertible. It had its original Hemi engine — though in about as good a condition as the body. It was a four-seater, so Peter could take his friends with him. But the best part was they’d work on it together for the rest of the year. He gave him the keys at a special breakfast. Tony knew Peter would spend the evening with his friends taking him out for his first legal drinking binge. That was fine with him. As long as they spent the morning together. That set the pattern for the years after.

Twenty-two, the year he got his BS, they left the following day for the start of his present. Peter was spectacularly hungover from the party Ned threw for him (drunk Peter was hilarious as it was found out the previous year, and his best friend couldn't resist.) But the flight attendant made a mean bloody Mary as they flew to Italy. It was the start of an absolutely indulgent vacation that lasted until it was time for Peter to begin his masters’ study. Without interruption. By Stark or by the Avengers. Just the two of them.

Last year, when Peter turned twenty-three… well… that was the day Tony proposed. Enough said.

Their wedding was scheduled for Peter’s twenty-fourth. But Tony’s birthday was a month and a half before Peter’s. It wasn’t like he particularly wanted to remember the fact that on May twenty-ninth he was turning fifty and his fiance was going to be twenty-six years younger than him on their wedding day.

So it was ridiculous to be pouting over Peter’s hurried leave after their breakfast. He’d decided to do concurrent masters in chemistry and mechanical engineering. (He’d loved working on the Coronet.) That meant year-round study. Which he was late for, he announced, leaving with his usual cup of coffee and a handful of bacon.

Going downstairs to the workshop would just give Tony more time to sulk as he pretended to work. So he headed further downstairs to the twenty-fifth floor and his office at Stark. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well actually go down to his office and… ugh… look at whatever Pepper left sitting on his desk since he’d last bothered to show up.

The situation was only made worse by the fact that Pepper remembered. But it was made infinitely better when Morgan showed up for lunch, giving Tony an excuse to beg off the rest of his day to take her shopping after they ate. For which she was already, at only eleven, developing quite the passion. It didn’t help that her dad indulged that passion to an outrageous degree and refused to listen to reason. Pepper was going to be far less than thrilled that the basement of her brownstone was going to be converted into a full lab for their genius daughter. Their shopping consisted of clearing out the nearest scientific supply house. But at least Tony didn’t buy her half of FAO Schwarz this shopping trip. (It wasn’t even anywhere close to half, though that trip claimed Pepper’s attic as Morgan’s playroom. Pepper clearly needed a bigger house. Morgan was a growing child.)

Tony got home very late for dinner (after dropping Morgan off at home and dealing with Pepper’s wrath), but since today was apparently no different from any other, it wasn’t unusual for him to be very late for dinner.

And nothing was missed. Peter was sitting at the dining table, surrounded by books and nibbling on a ham sandwich.

All right, Tony would admit to pouting, and sulking, when he begged off later that night, claiming exhaustion from his and Morgan’s adventure.

After another two days, Tony simply got over it. He was fifty years old for chrissakes. He hadn’t been upset over a missed birthday since he was five. Just because Peter remembered for the past three years, didn’t mean that he was going to continue. Tony would occasionally remember someone’s birthday back in the day. Sometimes, accidentally, even twice in a row. He was busy. Peter was busy. Birthdays were an irrelevant marking of the passing of time. And he had made time irrelevant anyway.

~~~~~

Peter made breakfast that morning. Tony knew before he even got out of bed. He smelled the previous failures. He went to shower, giving the kid time to start over… yet again. The omelette waiting for him looked about as good as the one he served Pepper after the Whiplash incident. Before he had his personal chef teach him how to cook. And the bacon was only slightly black around the edges.

At least the kid had learned how to make a proper cup of coffee. But Tony smiled as he ate it. When they were married, and offence wouldn’t call the event off, he would suggest calling his former chef to give a lesson, or three dozen, to Peter. Maybe even save the Queens Fire Department and make it shared lessons for both him and May.

Peter teased him about being an old man now, officially. Tony took it in stride. He had just turned fifty after all. Then the kid led him to ‘Peter’s’ Star Wars room (that they actually shared, though Tony admitted that to no one.) Sitting in the middle of a new display case was a miniature of Darth Vader’s TIE fighter that was the prop actually used in the filming of the Death Star trench run.

They both babbled on endlessly about the trivia surrounding its use. Including the oft-heard story about how, out of his friend group on Long Island, Tony always played Vader. But new to the story was Tony showing Peter a scan of the schematic he made when he was seven (as the boy-genius son of Howard Stark, every paper he so much as scribbled on had been kept.) He built his own TIE after wrecking four of the toy ones. His lasted the rest of the summer but was lost sometime after he went to school. This one, though fragile and would never be touched, was infinitely better.

Which led to them spending the day on the sofa, watching the ‘original trilogy’, which as always, earned Peter a glare when he referred that way to the only Star Wars movies that existed. Six hours later, much of the movies had been missed due to kissing. But it wasn’t like they hadn’t seen them multiple hundreds of times already. Tony didn’t like to go out on his birthday. Dealing with the crowds of the curious and paparazzi wasn’t his idea of fun. Since Peter had ��cooked’ breakfast, he started cooking dinner.

Tony was chopping vegetables when he noticed that Peter had become quiet. Not just quiet, but still.

“I forgot,” Peter said sheepishly.

“What did you forget?” He scraped the onions into a hot saute pan.

“Your birthday.” Peter ducked his head. “I forgot it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding? You just gave me the best present I’ve ever gotten in my life. You didn’t forget anything.”

“Yeah, I forgot. I was so involved in writing my quantum mechanics paper that I forgot your birthday.”

Tony laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Peter shook his head. “No. I forgot.”

Tony’s laugh turned into a giggle. “You mean you raided my ridiculously small collection of recreated Pym Particles and cracked into the safe where I keep the time GPSs to go back in time and fix the fact that you forgot my birthday?”

“Yes!” Peter said in a huff. “You should be angry with me!”

Tony went around the counter and gave Peter a hug, followed by a quick kiss. “Pete, how can I be angry with you for that? You got me two birthday presents. The TIE fighter is great and I love it. But you created another whole branch of the multiverse just so you could give it to me.”

“Two branches,” Peter said, ducking his head again. “I had to go back and convince the owner to sell me the TIE.”

“Oh that is fantastic!” Tony leaned back, still holding Peter around the waist. “Two branches of the multiverse exist where my fiance, the brilliant Peter Parker, was so involved in his quantum mechanics paper that he forgot my birthday.” He brought Peter into a passionate kiss. “You are amazing and you are going to be the perfect husband for me. Because that… that is such a me thing to do it’s not even funny.”

Peter laughed. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Yeah. Why do you think I wrote ‘to the next Tony Stark’ on my glasses and not ‘to the next Iron Man’? You’re almost more me than me. I love you, baby.”

“You’re burning the onions.” Peter grinned. “And that is such a me thing to do.”

Also on AO3

#Starker #Tony Stark's Birthday #fuzzy timelines

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jovialjudgebonkalmond · 5 years ago

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Inevitable, Ch 1

Aight. So, I got crotchety and decided to write a fic. Obvious disclaimer, I don’t own the characters or universe in which the story takes place - yes internet I am that old, thank you.

Summary: Monty is alive, in jail. A recounting of his experiences and memories and basically all those flashbacks we weren’t given in season 4 that I am butthurt about. It is AU in the sense that he is still alive whilst Clay & Co are attempting to frame him for Bryce’s murder. Obvious spoiler alerts if you haven’t seen season 4.

Pairings will be Monty x Winston mainly. So far this is all from Monty’s POV but that may change down the line.

Warnings include violence, sex, drug use, rape, murder, and basically everything graphic and bad you can imagine. Will absolutely contain smut. Oh, and swearing. Yay, debauchery.

Word Count: 2,963

Another warning: I haven’t written fanfiction for like...15 years guys. Go easy on me. Also, please excuse the shitty username. I didn’t pick it and I am far too lazy to change it.

Another another warning: This is from Monty’s point of view. Clearly he didn’t view his actions with the totality of how devastatingly monsterous they were. I condemn his actions, he’s a rapist and deserved jail time. As we saw in s3 and in snippets of s4 he didn’t share that point of view. I think Monty is a dynamic character that’s interesting and I relate a lot to his back story. That’s why I was motivated to write this.

The air was thick, heavy, and moist. It had that stench of too many bodies crammed into an enclosed space, like the end of the night at a house party and you're still sober and all you can smell is stale sweat and the old farts that people pretend they aren't sneaking out when they're grinding on each other.

Not that I have much experience with being the sober one at the end of the night.

Montgomery de la Cruz kept his jaw clenched and shoulders squared as he walked to the dining hall. As he passed other men, all dressed in the same ugly orange jumpsuits, he made brief eye contact. Walking with your eyes down here was a sign of weakness and he had a target on his back from the moment he arrived. His shoulders, back, and ribs ached with his movements. It hadn't taken the other inmates long to get acquainted with him, a matter of hours really. The urge to hunch his shoulders and put a hand to stable his broken ribs was overwhelming, and fighting it made the vein in his neck throb annoyingly in cadence with his pulse and footsteps.

White, black, brown, gnarled, wrinkled, scarred, baby-faced youth, tattooed or not.... Monty silently made an inventory of their faces and features. One way or another, they were all just fucking assholes waiting for their opportunity. It was baffling just how much it reminded him of high school. The dining hall even had the same layout as a cafeteria, the same dull drone of a few hundred pricks all talking at once. He scanned his I.D. and settled into the end of the meal tray line, leaving an arm's length of room between himself and the back of the inmate ahead of him. He was a slight, wiry Latino with a snake tattooed from his shoulders up his neck. Only moderately safer than lining up behind someone else. Race dictated almost everything here.

But his charges changed the rules. Sexually assaulting a minor carried out its own price in jail. He wasn't even safe within his own demographic.

Which was fucking bullshit anyway. Tyler was basically the same age and it wasn't fucking sexual assault for fuck's sake.

Not that anyone here gave a fuck.

Oh, and then there were the murder charges. Fucking Clay Jensen. He grabbed the plastic tray from the stack. It was the same ugly beige that the cement walls were painted. There were slits for windows close to the ceiling like a low-rent basement suite in the wrong part of town, with that cage wire in-between the panes of glass. So small even a tiny bitch like Standall wouldn't fit through them. It was incredible how much the human body craved the fresh air and cool breeze of an open window the moment you realize you may never feel it on your skin again.

Lunch was by far the best meal of the day. The food wasn't...terrible. Today it was plain lettuce chopped up as a 'salad', sliced ham on white Wonder Bread, and some kind of from the bag frozen brown slop passed off as soup. The silver lining was the butterscotch pudding. It reminded him of the milk cake his mom used to make him on his birthday, sort of. He stopped at each station and watched the inmates who worked the kitchen plop the items on his tray. The kitchen work was reserved for the favourites, for the most part. After all, what else are you gonna do on the outside with a record?

He looked for an empty table and dropped his tray on it with a soft clacking of plastic on poured concrete. The tables and chairs were rows of picnic style benches made out of concrete and steel, bolted into the concrete floor. They were hard, cold, and uncomfortable just like everything else in this fuckin' place. He supposed that was the point. Everyone here was just in the grown-up version of a time out corner... from life, possibly for life. He sat down, the cold, hard seat digging into the bones in his ass.

It was unnerving, intimidating... and so terrifying he had been breathless since the moment he arrived. Like a white hot fist was clenched across his whole chest, suffocating him with the weight of his fucking mistakes. So many fucking mistakes. It made his head spin like he was living in some kind of alternate reality or a fucking nightmare. Although, if he was honest...he always knew it would end up like this. Especially without Bryce around to clean up his fucking mess this time.

The hot night air whipped his face as he pressed on the gas pedal, the stars flashing by above him as he sped down the empty road. Justin reached between them and turned the volume up, blasting the music so he felt it pumping through himself like a weird tachycardia.

"I fucking love this song." He yelled, sparking up a joint. He took a few puffs off of it to get it started before passing it over. When he exhaled the air around them swilled with the familiar skunky aroma. Monty laughed, guiding the old Jeep with one hand and reaching for the joint with the other.

"Of course you do, its a shitty fucking song." he chuckled, inhaling in a slow pull. It burned at the back of his throat. He held it in for a few seconds before exhaling and shaking his head and passing it back.

"That's cheap shit."

"Well yeah, I'm not fucking Bryce Walker." Justin laughed, the streetlights illuminating his black eye. His mother had a new asshole boyfriend who picked tonight to use Justin as a human punching bag...and well that's what brothers were for. It's not like Monty had anything better to do, anyway. He flipped his signal to turn right and pulled into the parking lot by the rocky beach. They could throw rocks and sticks into the water, maybe set some shit on fire and get shitfaced. Justin took another hit off the joint and pinched the end out with his fingertips, rubbing the ash into his skin like a salve.

"Neither am I, man, neither am I..." he muttered. Justin and Monty weren't the most unlikely of friends. Justin was a bit worse off than him in the family department, sort of. But Bryce Walker? Sometimes he wondered if not for the team what was the thread that held them together.

"Fucking Bryce." Justin muttered as Monty cut the engine. The silence without the music was sudden and deafening. "Of course he's out of town with his dad on vacation."

"Probably getting laid." Monty added, laughing. Justin laughed too. Justin Foley was like...allergic to being alone. The fuckin' guy had kicked puppy written all over his face, always needing a lap to curl up in...and in the absence of that there was always a powder or a needle to get him through til the next adoption. But he was such a drag and a honest to god pain in the ass on the field when he was in withdrawal or detoxing. So. Monty was here to pick up the pieces before it jeopardized the team. And he didn't mind. It was better than being at home...

He pulled the keys out and stepped out. The California summer air meant he didn't need the doors or the top on the Jeep and he enjoyed the freedom. Justin matched his footsteps as they silently walked on to the rocky beach. His trademarked puppy dog eyes were mournfully eyeing the skyline where it met the ocean. Monty casually reached down and picked up a rock, watching it skip across the waves when he tossed it. Justin stuffed his hands in the pockets of his varsity jacket.

"Sometimes I wonder why he even fuckin' bothers with a couple of fuck ups like us." He muttered, casting his eyes down.

So that's what we're gonna do, Monty thought, we're gonna mope... fuck that.

"Now Justy, imagine how fucking boring his life would be without us. Just an endless string of bitches to rail and expensive scotch." He skipped another rock and glanced over, leaned in and gently knocked his shoulder into Justin's, knocking the other boy off balance. Justin laughed and locked eyes with Monty for a moment.

"I guess you're right about that yeah." he laughed. It was a small, unsure laugh at first but Monty saw the sorrow break a bit in his eyes. He was good at noticing these subtle things, noticing things was often what saved his ass. If you knew to watch when someone's eyes changed, or the way their muscles tensed and moved you could easily predict what they were going to do. Quite often this was what was between him and a clenched fist to his face.

Monty and Justin had similarities, Monty could admit that, but where Justin pulled inward and consumed himself, brought himself down, Monty hardened and clenched his fist right back at the world.

If he was honest, he thought Foley was weak. But that's what brothers are for, they protect each other. The strong look out for the weak, especially in their weakest moments.

"I mean, who are we kidding," Justin said, "He's going to go off to like Stanford or Princeton or something..." He leaned down and picked up a rock, running his fingers over the smooth, cold surface.

"You couldn't pay me to go to one of those stuffy ass places anyway." Monty countered, kicking at some of the rocks by his feet, scuffing a small trench into the sand beneath. "I get sick just thinking about it."

"Yeah." Justin agreed, "I just... all these fuckin' rich kids..."

"Yeah. And their tight pants and cardigans." Monty snorted, watching Justin's face break into another smile.

"Fucking cardigan's. Like a fucking grandpa."

"I'm not going to live long enough to get old, so I can't relate." Monty said loudly, almost like forced bravado. He liked being obnoxious, to smile out of spite.

"Yeah," Justin laughed, "You're gonna die in prison with a fuckin' shiv between your ribs."

Monty laughed, watching Justin release his rock with a flick of his wrist. It skipped once over the glassy surface before falling into its inky black depths.

"And you're gonna die with a fuckin' needle in your arm...or-" His face cracked into a grin.

"Maybe you'll get the fuckin hiv."

Justin laughed loudly and gave Monty a shove.

"It's H-I-V, dumbass."

"Yeah, but hiv rhymes with shiv. We'll both get ivved." He crowed proudly, shoving Justin back lightly with both his hands. Justin took a half-hearted swing at him, but he dodged it easily and picked up a piece of driftwood as he ran by, swinging around and walloping the other boy in the ass. Justin's legs buckled and he took a few steps, laughing and chucking handful of small rocks at him. They pinged over his broad chest like hail on a shitty day.

"Fuck you, Monty!"

"Ohh wouldn't you like to though, Justy." Monty countered, turning around and dropping his pants off his cheeks. He bent over and smacked his own ass, "I'm waiting!" He laughed, his face breaking into a slightly demented grin. He felt the stinging welt of a stick being whipped across his bare skin and jumped, yanking his pants back up. He yelped, turning around, the grin not leaving his face.

"Fuck no, you'd like it too much. Perv." Justin pointed the stick at him. Monty picked up the stick he had dropped before and aimed for Justin's thigh, but Justin blocked it and whacked Monty again, this time in his side. They continued to chase, smack, and poke at each other, delighting in the mutual torment.

"Fuck you're relentless." Justin declared in defeat, dropping his stick with a laugh and holding his hands up with surrender. He was panting, his pasty skin clammy in the moonlight.

"It's one of my more endearing qualities." Monty said with a devilish grin as he bowed. "That and my abs."

"Fuck your 'roid ass abs." Justin half wheezed. "Think Bryce will read our obituaries from his penthouse drinking his fucking scotch?"

"Nah man," Monty laughed with a shake of his head, "They don't write obituaries for shitheads like us."

Monty was yanked out of his drifting memories when another man sat across from him with a thump that rattled the table. The boy stared at the man for a moment, one triangular quarter of his shitty dry sandwich poised in his hand as he was about to take a bite. He bit down and chewed, watching the intruder with feigned disinterest. He was good at this. Putting on a front.

Until he couldn't anymore, that is. Until the mask slipped and revealed the scared, desperate pile of shit inside.

The man was at least six feet tall, three-and-some hundred pounds, white as mayonnaise with a big ol' swastika on his bicep. He had an earring in one ear and some scars down his face, chest, and arms. Scratches. Wounds made from desperate, terrified women in self defense. He was bald as a gummy walnut, his scalp weirdly wrinkled and beginning to be dotted with age spots. He was at least mid-fifties, Monty figured. Total skinhead. Asshole. Word of mouth said his rap sheet was a few miles long, most recently connected to a decent string of raped and murdered girls and women. Almost all of them were involved in the sex trade, women or girls of colour. He was a truck driver who used his profession as a tool to evade the police, making it hard to pin him down because he changed locations across different jurisdictions. The varied age and ethnicities of his victims didn't help the police either. Some were as young as 12 years old, and others as old as mid 40's. He, too, was awaiting sentencing. Obviously whatever happened, he'd end up in a maximum state prison.

Couldn't fit the stereotype more if he tried, Monty thought, disgusted.

That's the shit end of the stick awaiting sentencing in a county jail. You get petty crooks like Tim Pozzy who likely won't even get real time, and then assholes like this behemoth pile of trash.

Monty chewed his food, watching silently as the neonazi asshole reached across the table and took his pudding. His fingers were fat, like pale bloated sausages. He opened it, maintaining eye contact with Monty. His eyes were an icy blue, and they seemed devoid of anything. They say the eyes are the window to the soul... and there was nothing there. It sent a shiver down the 18 year old's spine and made the hair on the back of his neck tickle. He smiled, showing that he was clearly in desperate need of dental care. He didn't have many teeth left, and the ones that remained were brownish-greyish nubs of rot. Monty thanked whatever god or demon that might be listening that he couldn't smell this guy's breath. It just looked like it would inevitably stink. The whole time he felt the old familiar build up, the inevitable time bomb tick, tick, ticking through his veins. His blood sounded like thunder in his ears.

How is it that I fuck with Ty-ty, just some fucking hazing, not a big deal...and I get labelled a pedophile and a rapist - a fucking rapist for fuck's sake - and this guy...this guy basically runs this place...

It's not like he wanted to fuck Tyler. That's disgusting. He wanted to hurt him, and he could admit that was wrong. Sure. But the little creep had ruined his life, and for that he had to pay. It was simple.

This asshole, though, was the real pedophile. The only difference was Monty had the audacity to target a white male, the untouchable. And this guy stuck to the easily forgotten targets.

He stuck out a surprisingly short, wide, tongue that looked like it was covered in herpes lesions and licked the foiled plastic lid of the pudding. Monty felt it come alive inside of him, blinding and electric. White hot rage boiled through his veins, exploding in his head and lighting every muscle in his body so that he had to move or it would consume him. He couldn't have stopped himself if he had wanted to try, and he didn't bother with the wasted effort.

In a swift, smooth motion he grabbed his lunch tray with his free hand and backhanded the other man up the jaw with it and stood. Before the asshole had time to react, he used his other hand to grip the top of his head - ham sandwich and all, and slam his face into the concrete table and the pudding. Blood and pudding spurted in all directions like a moneyshot of rage jizz and he felt relief hearing the echoing crack of the larger man's skull. He didn't even have time to bask in the afterglow of his violence before he felt the familiar thud of knuckles to the bottom left of his jaw, the blow eliciting a sickening pop and sending him reeling out of control. He stumbled, losing his balance as vision went static like a television without a connection. He tasted the all too familiar coppery flavour of blood filling his mouth. He spat and staggered and threw a blind fist out, feeling it connect to something, but what he wasn't sure. The immediate agony and crack told him it was in fact the fucking table and he probably broke some fingers. That's when he took a second, devastating blow to his head and everything went black.

#13rw #fanfic #monty de la cruz #montgomery de la cruz #monty x winston #winston x monty #13rw fanfiction

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calumcest · 5 years ago

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you and i were fireworks that went off too soon - chapter seven

[ao3]

did i just pull this entire chapter out of my arse tonight? maybe! not that i don’t write these chapters all in one sitting at like 9pm-1am every single time don’t get it twisted i’m not organised i am a binge-writer

i always do my long ass a/ns on ao3 i dont know why feels more REVEALING to do them here because i know people actually read them and i think probably one person on the whole planet has ever read my ao3 a/ns its a safe haven so i’m just going to say my brief thank yous: thank you to @clumsyclifford for literally everything you do always, thank you to @ashesonthefloor for listening too me bitch about this fic and having the most wonderful thoughts and ideas about it, thank you to @kaleidoscopeminds for motivating me to keep writing this fic w your kind words, thank you to @allsassnoclass for always being so wise and understanding of authors dilemmas and encouraging me w your lovely words, and thank you to my spoiler anon for being so lovely about this fic and holyverse and also for asking about another chapter because i swear to u i would have kept putting it off were it not for u. also big thank you to noel and liam gallagher for writing the SMASH hits i wrote this entire chapter to and for being [redacted] and also to richard madden because i just fancy him and feel like i should thank him for existing and allowing me to perceive him

It’s a twin room, thank God, because Luke would have rather slept in the hallway than shared a bed with Ashton for four weeks.

“I’m taking the window bed,” he announces, before Ashton has a chance to say anything, out of pure spite, because he knows Ashton likes sleeping by the window. Or knew, maybe. He’s not sure anymore.

Ashton opens and then closes his mouth, nods curtly, and puts his carry-on bag on the bed nearest the bathroom. Luke puts Clifford down on the bed first, muttering at him to stop fucking yapping (which Clifford, of course, ignores), and then drops his suitcases next to it with a sigh.

“So,” Ashton says, and his voice fills the entire room, too loud and too much, a jarring reminder that Ashton’s here, in Luke’s space, and Luke’s got no option but to live with it. “Should we go out?” Luke blinks at him.

“What?” he says.

“Well,” Ashton says, with an uncomfortable shrug. “Study doesn’t start ‘til tomorrow, and it’s only nine. Thought we could spend the day exploring?” Luke stares at him.

“Think I’d rather spend my last day of freedom alone,” he says, a little harshly. Ashton blinks, and Luke doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that crosses his face, but then he nods again.

“Have you still got my UK number?” he says, and Luke hesitates, and then nods. He’s not sure why it feels like he’s giving something away by admitting that he’d never deleted Ashton’s numbers; he’d been the one to text Ashton about the tattoos first, so clearly Ashton already knows that Luke still had his Australian number, at least. “Well. Text me if you need anything?”

“Don’t think I’ll need anything,” Luke says, and Ashton sighs, and Luke feels a little small, a little stupid, like Ashton’s a patient parent putting up with a melodramatic teenager.

“I’m going to head off, then,” Ashton says, a touch awkwardly, and Luke just nods, busying himself with getting Clifford out of his travel cage, thinking he’ll ask at reception for directions to the nearest park and let Clifford stretch his legs. He steadfastly doesn’t look at Ashton as Ashton gathers his things together, patting his coat pocket to make sure he’s got everything, and then slips out of the room, door clicking shut behind him.

As soon as Ashton’s left, Luke suddenly feels simultaneously relieved and overwhelmed. He feels like he can breathe a little easier, think a little clearer without Ashton in his personal space, making him feel like he has to be alert, on edge, but the hotel room feels strangely empty without him. Luke shakes his head, tries to get the latter thought out of his mind, focusing on Clifford’s insistent yaps to draw him back to reality and distract him.

“Alright, little man, we’re going,” Luke mutters, fumbling around in his bag for Clifford’s lead. Clifford jumps around at his feet, already panting, and Luke rolls his eyes, clips the lead on, checks he’s got his room key and phone in his pocket and heads out of the room.

He decides to take the stairs, since he doesn’t think Clifford’s got the patience to wait for the lift, which proves to be the right decision when Clifford’s straining at his lead trying to bound down the stairs, giving Luke reproachful looks whenever he tugs him back. They’re only on the second floor, so it’s not long before Luke’s back in the lobby, and Clifford finally pulls himself together and trots smartly at Luke’s heel, giving other people milling in the area imperious looks as they pass.

“Hi,” Luke says, and the receptionist smiles politely up at him. “I’d like to walk my dog. Can you tell me where the nearest park is?” She nods.

“Of course, sir,” she says, and pulls out a brochure. Luke mentally pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s going to look like a massive fucking tourist walking around with one of those. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get mugged.

“You just need to turn left out of the hotel, take a right at the end of the road, take the second left after that, take two rights, and you’ll be at the park,” she says, trailing her pen across the streets and ending it with a flourish, circling a rectangle of green on the map and smiling at him again. Luke smiles back, having taken absolutely none of that in, thanks her, pockets the map and decides he’ll probably just walk around the nearby backstreets for a while until Clifford’s worn out to lower his chances of getting lost.

Clifford, it turns out, is surprisingly tired, having apparently spent all of his energy on pestering Luke to take him out. He only manages about half an hour of walking up and down a few streets around the hotel before he’s flagging, sitting down and staring up at Luke beseechingly when Luke tries to pull him along. A passing couple throw Luke an amused look and titter to themselves, and Luke sighs.

“C’mon, little man,” he says, tugging again. Clifford refuses to budge, just stares up at Luke with a look that Luke knows all too well. “Come on, Cliff, you’re embarrassing me. It’s two streets away. You can walk that far.” Clifford stays put, and Luke rolls his eyes, but bends down and scoops Clifford up into his arms. Clifford immediately nuzzles into Luke happily, licking at his neck, and Luke pulls back, wrinkling his nose. “Gross, Cliff, don’t do that.”

Luke pretty much speedwalks back to the hotel because little though Clifford is, he’s surprisingly heavy after a while, and Luke’s much weaker than he looks. He throws the receptionist a polite smile on his way back up to the room, unclips Clifford from the lead as soon as he’s in there and rummages around in one of his suitcases for the bed Michael had shoved on top of all of Luke’s warmest clothes. Clifford watches him patiently, and hops into the bed as soon as Luke’s unfolded it, curls up and closes his eyes. Luke can’t help but smile fondly down at him, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Clifford’s head and scratching behind his ears.

“I’m going to go out again, little man,” he tells Clifford. “I’ll be back to give you your dinner, though.” Clifford just sniffs, which Luke takes to mean ‘yeah, sure, now fuck off and let me sleep’, and Luke straightens again, throws Clifford one final fond look and heads back out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

He decides it’s probably fine if he wanders aimlessly, since the brochure in his pocket has the name of the hotel on it and Michael had paid for his phone plan to cover the UK for six weeks so he can look it up when he inevitably gets lost. Having spent half an hour in the streets surrounding the hotel already, he decides to get on the tube and head somewhere new, picking a stop name he recognises - Leicester Square sounds vaguely familiar.

Leicester Square, it turns out, sounds familiar because it’s a tourist hotspot. Luke’s ducking and weaving between people, mumbling apologies as he slips through gaps that he doesn’t actually fit through and splits up groups (but seriously, he thinks, slightly irritated as he smiles politely, who the fuck walks in a row of five?). There are countless little side alleys and back roads leading off the main street, but even those are difficult to walk through, filled with the native Londoners who know their way through the labyrinth of twisting streets and know better than to be anywhere near Leicester Square in the first place.

Eventually, half to get out of the crowds and half because he’s actually pretty hungry, Luke ducks into a Costa and buys himself a ham and cheese toastie, balking at the price when the cashier rings it up. Five fucking pounds, what’s that, ten dollars? For one sandwich? Fucking hell. He’s definitely going to be demanding those reimbursements from the university.

He’s waiting for his sandwich to come out of the toaster, only two baristas serving a queue of at least twenty, when someone taps him on the shoulder a little tentatively, making him jump. He whips around, wondering whether he’s in the way or something, and comes face to face with-

Ashton.

“Are you serious?” he demands, before he can think about it. Ashton shrugs, and looks a little uncomfortable. “Are you following me?”

“I was already here,” Ashton says. “I’ve got a table.” He waves his hand in the directions of an empty table in the far corner, and Luke can see Ashton’s coat bunched up on one of the chairs.

“Oh,” Luke says. Ashton gives him a look, simultaneously sad and calculating, and for a brief moment, Luke thinks fuck, his eyes are pretty. Jesus Christ. Maybe he should have stayed at the hotel and napped.

“D’you want to sit with me?” Ashton says. Luke hesitates - not particularly , is the first petulant thought to cross his mind, before his rational side kicks in and tells him sleepily that he won’t find a seat anywhere else - and then nods.

“Ham and cheese toastie?” the barista calls, and Luke steps forwards, takes it from her hand and heads wordlessly in the direction of Ashton’s table, Ashton in tow.

“Sorry,” Ashton says, when Luke picks up Ashton’s coat off the seat and holds it out for him. He takes it from Luke and his finger brushes against Luke’s, and something like liquid gold rushes through Luke, making him giddy from head to toe. It’s the sleeplessness, he tells himself, averting his gaze and snatching his hand away. God knows he’s felt even more unexplainable things on the same amount of sleep.

“‘S alright,” Luke says, sitting down to avoid thinking about the warmth of Ashton’s finger brushing against his own and the way his finger is still burning from the contact. “You didn’t know I was going to be here.” Ashton hesitates, and then busies himself with tucking his coat behind him, like he’s looking for something to do that isn’t stare across the table at Luke. Luke’s not going to complain about that, and takes a bite out of the first half of the toastie so he won’t have to say anything else.

They sit in silence for a moment, Luke eating his toastie, Ashton fiddling with the bracelet on his left hand. The silence is uncomfortable, oppressive, and Luke kind of wishes he’d just sat on the fucking floor or something. Nothing makes him wish that more, though, than when Ashton opens his mouth and says: “I wondered.”

Luke swallows his last bite of toastie with a frown.

“You wondered what?” he says. Ashton shrugs, tension and discomfort visible in the movement.

“I wondered whether we’d bump into each other,” he says. Luke rolls his eyes.

“Not this again,” he mutters, but it’s more tired than anything. Ashton sighs, and drops his hands onto the table.

“Look,” he says carefully. “I don’t think us bumping into each other all the time is a coincidence.”

“Fucking hell,” Luke says, but there’s no heat behind the words. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and squeezes them shut. He’s too fucking tired for this.

“Luke,” Ashton says, like Luke’s being unreasonable. “We’ve lived in the same city for years-” Luke opens his mouth to interrupt, because Ashton was always away half the time when they were together, and he can’t imagine that’s changed much “-okay, on-off, because I’m in LA sometimes - but we’ve not once bumped into each other. Then we get the tattoos, and suddenly I’m seeing you every other week?”

“What’s your point?” Luke says, a little irritably. “You think this is some grand plan from the universe to make us fall back in love? What, I’m Cathy, you’re Heathcliff?” Ashton bites his lip, and Luke’s mouth twists bitterly in a humourless smile. “This isn’t fucking romantic, Ashton. You leaving me was-” he cuts himself off. He’s not quite ready to tell Ashton that , yet. “Awful,” he says, eventually. “This isn’t part of some, like, big romantic redemption arc for you. You fucked up, and you fucked me over, and we’ve just got to find some way to live with the tattoos. That’s why we’re both here, isn’t it?” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and if Luke’s not mistaken, looks a little paler than he had a minute ago, and then nods.

“Can we at least be civil?” Ashton says, and then, seeing the look on Luke’s face, adds: “We’re stuck together for four weeks, Luke. I know you don’t like me, and I’m not asking for- for friendship, or anything. I’m just asking for you to be civil with me.” Luke exhales heavily.

“Fine,” he says tiredly, before he has the chance to think too much about it. “Civil.”

“Civil,” Ashton agrees.

(Luke’s pretty sure civil doesn’t involve thinking God, I’d forgotten how long his eyelashes are, and the way you can see a hint of his dimple when he speaks, but he’s also pretty sure that’s entirely to do with the exhaustion, and nothing to do with him.)

-------

Ashton talks Luke into going down to the Houses of Parliament, with a combination of a sincere look on his face, big, serious eyes as he says look, we don’t want to risk another bumping-into-each-other tattoo, and it’ll just be civil, and the fact that Luke just doesn’t have the energy to argue. Plus, he thinks, Ashton seems to know where he’s going, and Luke had forgotten to take his charger with him so he’s kind of fucked if he gets lost.

The walk down from Costa to the Houses of Parliament is only about twenty minutes, but feels so much fucking longer, both of them all too aware of the awkward silence hanging between them, amplified by the noise of the city surrounding them. They walk through Trafalgar Square, and Ashton tells Luke something about art installations and the fourth plinth and Luke just nods along, trying his best to do this whole civil thing by quelling his instinct to snap I don’t fucking know what a plinth is and you know full fucking well I don’t care about art. Ashton seems to sense it from him anyway, though, because he falters and then says, with an uncomfortable laugh, “You probably don’t care about this anyway.”

“Not really,” Luke admits, because they’d said civil, not dishonest. Ashton smiles wryly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, and Luke just hums, and they fall back into an awkward silence.

It’s easier, Luke finds, when a man in a suit shoulders into him and keeps walking without so much as a mumbled apology and Ashton turns to him, outraged, and says Londoners really are cunts, if they interact with each other through their surroundings. Talking about people, things, even the fucking weather, adds a sheen of superficiality, a layer of removal that they can both look at and pretend there’s nothing more to it, no years of hurt and pain bubbling beneath the surface.

“How is it this sunny yet this cold?” Luke grumbles, shielding his eyes and squinting up at Big Ben.

“You should be here in April,” Ashton says, stabbing the button at the traffic light repeatedly.

“I’ve got no intentions of being here any longer than I have to be,” Luke mutters. “What are we looking at, again?”

“It’s parliament, Luke,” Ashton says, like that’s supposed to mean something to Luke.

“So?” Luke says. “We’ve got a parliament.”

“And? Have you ever seen it?” Ashton says shrewdly, and Luke scowls, biting back the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue. Civil and Ashton are two concepts that he assumes will take a while to marry in his mind.

“Whatever,” he says, stepping out into the road as the light turns green. “Just don’t get why I’m supposed to care about some random country’s government, is all.” Ashton doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, jogging to catch up with Luke, and they walk the rest of the distance to the buildings in silence.

It’s quite imposing, Luke thinks, up close. The buildings are sort of dirty - or maybe they’re meant to look like that - and incredibly intricate, bordering on fussy. It towers over them, looking more like a palace than a place of governance, Big Ben casting a long shadow across the road. He’s not sure he’d want to be governed from this place.

“I don’t like it,” he says.

“Really?” Ashton says, squinting up at the buildings. “I think it’s kind of pretty.” You would, Luke thinks darkly. Old, ornate and overcomplicated? That’s exactly the kind of thing Ashton would get excited about and find unwarranted symbolism in.

“Yeah, well,” Luke says instead, because he’s pretty sure that thought doesn’t count as civil. “Think it’s just a bit too elaborate.”

“It’s Gothic Revival,” Ashton says, like Luke’s supposed to have a single fucking clue what that means. Actually, Luke thinks bitterly, he’s probably fully aware that Luke doesn’t have any idea what that means, and is hoping Luke will take the bait and ask so Ashton can demonstrate his massive intellect, or whatever.

“Right,” Luke says, a little shortly. Ashton glances at him, looking a touch taken aback, but then looks back at the buildings.

“We can go somewhere else,” he says, and it’s an offer. An olive branch.

“Yeah,” Luke says, because annoyance at not knowing anything about architectural styles aside, looking at an old building is just pretty fucking boring.

“There’s an aquarium not too far away,” Ashton says. “I remember you-” he stops himself, and Luke swallows. Yeah. He loves aquariums. He loves them so much that Ashton had taken him to the Sydney Aquarium for their third anniversary, a month or two before he’d broken up with Luke.

(Two months on the dot. Not that Luke has both dates seared into his mind, or anything.)

“Yeah,” Luke says again, to fill the silence of both of them thinking back to that day. “Let’s go to the aquarium.” Ashton hesitates, and glances at Luke like he wants to say something else, a sort of semi-pained expression on his face, and then he sighs, shakes his head, and throws Luke a tight smile.

“Let’s go to the aquarium,” he agrees.

-------

The aquarium, it turns out, is a much better choice.

Despite the odd screaming child, the aquarium has a calming silence to it, an almost pensive quiet that pierces to the depths of Luke’s soul. It settles the air between him and Ashton, means they’re not silent for lack of civil things to say, but rather because they’re both caught up in the muted beauty of the ocean.

They don’t walk together, because Ashton likes to pore over every single placard and study every creature in minute detail and Luke’s drawn to the pretty, colourful fish. It’s Luke, though, who’s always the last to move on, and Ashton waits for him before they head to the next room. It’s almost nice, Luke thinks, as he heads for the door and sees Ashton slip through it when he sees Luke’s ready to move on, that they don’t have to have awkward conversations about it, that they can just understand and fall into it.

(He tries not to think about why.)

They spend hours in the aquarium, dawdling in every room, because they spent so much fucking money on it and they’re both going to be damned if they won’t milk it for all it’s worth. Luke spends an extra long time looking at the clownfish, for some reason, hypnotised by the way they can weave in and out of the anemones. There’s some kind of symbolism to be found there, he thinks, something about toxicity and safety, but he’s too tired to come up with it himself. Ashton would probably correct him if he tried, anyway.

Ashton’s particularly taken by the sharks, it turns out. He’s already staring at the huge tank in awe when Luke gets into the room, barely even blinking as his eyes follow one shark after the other. The room itself is dark, like the rest of the aquarium, but the tank’s so huge that Ashton’s bathed in light, rippling and shimmering and Luke, for the briefest of moments, feels something sharp stab at his heart, something he remembers feeling the last time he’d stood in an aquarium with Ashton. It makes his stomach clench, twist in on itself, because he knows exactly what he’d identified that feeling as before.

“They’re fucking beautiful, aren’t they?” Ashton says, interrupting Luke’s train of thought before it can take the leap off the cliff edge of panic, and Luke looks up at the sharks.

“I guess?” he says, because he doesn’t really see it.

“You used to like them,” Ashton says, sounding a little surprised.

“I used to like a lot of things,” Luke says. I used to like you, he adds spitefully in his head, and sort of hopes Ashton’s telepathic.

“Guess I’ve got to get to know you again,” Ashton says, and it’s a little wistful, a little sad. Luke doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what would sum up I’m not sure I want you to, I don’t think I’ll give you a chance and Good fucking luck in a civil way.

They stand there for a while, watching the sharks, and people filter in and out of the room behind them. It feels oddly hypnotic, being stood there with Ashton, the only two static parts of a moving whole. He wonders if the sharks feel the same, swimming aimlessly in their tank, watching the world pass by and powerless to move with it.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says quietly, after at least ten minutes have passed. It’s so quiet that Luke thinks he might have misheard it - maybe it was the family behind them, or just the sound of the tank - but he can sense Ashton stiffen next to him, like he’s preparing for backlash of some sort.

“What?” Luke says, just to make sure he’s heard right.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton repeats. Luke pauses, waiting for Ashton to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t really have to, though, Luke finds, because he knows what Ashton means.

“I know,” Luke says eventually. Ashton swallows, but says nothing, just carries on gazing at the sharks, but out of the corner of his eye Luke can see that Ashton’s gaze is fixed now, not following the sharks around.

They stand in silence until an announcement blares through the system telling them that the aquarium is closing soon, making them both jump.

“What time is it?” Luke asks, just for something to say.

“Uh,” Ashton says, pulling his phone out. “Five.” Fucking hell. It feels much later than that. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” Ashton adds, like he knows what Luke’s thinking. Luke nods.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” he admits, as they head back up the steps away from the sharks and towards the exit.

“Me too,” Ashton says. “I wanted to stay up until at least ten, but…” he trails off, stifling a yawn, and Luke can’t help but snort. Ashton smiles, small but genuine. “Fuck off,” he says, but it’s good-natured.

“Yeah,” Luke says, as they traipse out into the little shop. “Think I’m just going to crash when we get back.” Ashton nods, pushing open the door to the exit. Luke’s expecting the glare of brilliant sunlight to hit him, squints in preparation for the onslaught of light, but it’s pitch fucking black.

“What the fuck?” he says, sounding kind of perplexed and kind of outraged.

“What?” Ashton says. Luke gestures up at the sky with one hand, and uses the other to pull his coat in closer towards himself, because fucking hell, it’s freezing.

“It’s five o’clock,” he says. Ashton looks up at the sky, and then at him, an amused expression on his face.

“Wrong hemisphere,” he says, and Luke rolls his eyes.

“Fucking miserable place,” Luke grumbles, tucking his arms in and huddling in on himself. “No wonder they invaded the rest of the fucking world, Jesus. I wouldn’t want to stay here either.” Ashton says nothing, but when they pass under a streetlight, Luke sees the corners of his lips tilted upwards, and something warm and pleasant spreads from his stomach outwards.

“D’you actually know where you’re going?” he asks, when Ashton takes a sharp right turn onto a bridge.

“Of course I know,” Ashton says, in that infuriating, I’m-Ashton-Irwin-and-I’m-an-intellectual manner that Luke had never liked. Luke rolls his eyes, not entirely playfully, and jogs to keep up with him.

Ashton leads them across the bridge, past the parliament buildings again, up a long road that a lot of people are ambling down, and then cuts into a small alley on the right.

“You definitely don’t fucking know where you’re going,” Luke says, standing at the mouth of the road, something uneasy in his stomach. “I’m not going down here.”

“I know where I’m going,” Ashton says.

“Where are you going?” Luke says sceptically.

“Charing Cross.”

“Why is that down an alleyway?”

“It’s just a shortcut.” Luke stares at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Why can’t we walk on the main road?” he asks, because it feels right. Something about the alleyway feels wrong.

“We can,” Ashton says. “But it’ll take longer.” Luke makes no indications of moving, and Ashton sighs, and it’s tinged with sadness. “Come on, Luke, are you serious? You think I’m going to, what, murder you in an alley in London?” Well. Not specifically, but something’s telling Luke not to follow Ashton into that alley. Much more than that, it’s telling him not to let Ashton into that alley, but Luke’s trying to ignore that part of it.

“I just don’t want to go that way,” Luke says stubbornly. “Let’s just go on the main road.”

“It’ll take much longer that way,” Ashton says.

“I don’t care,” Luke says. “We’re not exactly fucking wanting for time, are we?” Ashton takes a step further into the alleyway, almost out of Luke’s line of vision.

“Come on , Luke,” he says, and takes another step, and Luke’s stomach tightens uncomfortably as he does.

“Don’t,” Luke says, before he can stop himself.

“Why?” Ashton says, sounding exasperated. “Look, the longer you stand here arguing, the longer it’ll take us either way.”

“I’m taking the main road,” Luke says. “Just- let’s fucking walk on the main road.”

“You don’t even know the way,” Ashton says. “I know the way.”

“I’m not going that way.” Even in the darkness and despite the distance, Luke can see Ashton roll his eyes.

“There’s nothing fucking down here, Luke,” Ashton calls, taking another step into the alleyway, and Luke edges forwards without even thinking about it, needing to keep Ashton in sight. It’s not really working, though, because Ashton’s walking further in and Luke’s at an angle to the alleyway, and it’s making him panic a little.

“Don’t fucking go down there,” Luke says, through gritted teeth. “Ashton, seriously. Just fucking come on the main road with me.”

“What’s your problem?” Ashton says, and even though he sounds genuinely surprised and curious, it makes a flash of anger flare up in Luke.

“Can you stop being a cunt for, like, two fucking minutes?” he bites out.

“Luke, I-” Ashton cuts himself off with a shout, and the anger’s gone, replaced with pure fucking fear and panic and protect protect protect running through Luke’s mind, and Luke’s barely even aware of his surroundings as he takes off, sprinting as fast as he can to the alleyway, getting to the entrance to it just as Ashton comes running out, wild-eyed. He doesn’t stop or say anything, just grabs Luke’s hand as he passes and tugs him hard in the opposite direction. They run to the main road, Luke’s heart pounding in a way that definitely isn’t just from the exercise, and then they run up it, and they don’t stop running until they’re outside the station. Luke doesn’t even realise that they’re still holding hands until Ashton drops his hand to lean on his knees, panting, hair completely windswept as it falls into his eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” Luke spits, fury beginning to set in between the racing heartbeats and gasped breaths.

“Someone fucking-” Ashton waves a hand, like it’s going to explain what ‘someone’ did. It doesn’t fucking matter, because those two words alone are enough to make Luke’s heart tighten, to make his stomach clench

“I fucking said-”

“I know, but it’s fucking five p.m., and I always go that way-”

“I told you-”

“I know, Luke,” Ashton says, breathing almost back to normal, and he straightens and gives Luke a look that looks almost sad. “Why d’you think that was?”

“Why do I- are you fucking insane? Because it’s a creepy fucking alleyway? Anyone would fucking know not to go down there!” Luke says, throwing his hands in the air.

“You were so fucking adamant,” Ashton says.

“Yeah, and if you’d fucking listened-”

“Luke,” Ashton interrupts. “I didn’t sense fucking anything.” Luke stops.

“Are you trying to say this is another fucking soulmate experience?” he says. “We don’t have three. Most people don’t even have one. ”

“No,” Ashton says. “I think it’s the same one. The first one. The protecting one.”

Oh.

It’s kind of a blur already, even though it’s only been like, three minutes, but Luke remembers the haze of protect protect protect that clouded every single other one of his thoughts, that stopped anything and everything else - including his own safety - from mattering, that made him move without even thinking, running straight fucking into the alleyway he’d been so uneasy about because nothing mattered more than Ashton.

“Fuck,” he says, and Ashton nods grimly.

“Yeah,” he says. Neither of them need to say didn’t realise it went both ways, because it’s both written clearly across their faces.

“You got this on the fucking phone?” Luke can’t help but ask.

“Yeah,” Ashton says again. Luke rakes a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts. All he can really focus on is the what the fuck and Jesus Christ and fucking hell swirling around in a mess in his mind.

“Well,” he says. “Shit.” Ashton huffs out a shaky laugh, raises his eyebrows, and nods, and Luke thinks that about sums it up.

-------

They don’t talk much on the journey back to the hotel. Luke snipes at Ashton when Ashton tries to show him how to use his contactless card on the barriers, because he’d much rather use a paper ticket, thank you very fucking much, and Ashton calls Luke back when he heads down the wrong escalator. Luke asks once what their stop is and nods when Ashton answers him, and then they don’t speak again until they’re in the safety of the brightly-lit hotel lobby.

Luke’s not entirely sure how to take the silence between them in the lift up to the second floor. It still feels awkward, stilted, uncomfortable, but there’s something grander now, something bigger than the both of them that they can both feel but neither of them want to acknowledge.

Luke fusses over Clifford when they get back into the hotel room, pulls out the pack of dog food he’d brought with him because he hadn’t been sure what brands the UK would have, and Clifford munches his dinner happily while Luke carefully removes his coat and plugs his phone in to charge, not looking at Ashton. It feels overcrowded, even though the room is made for two people and certainly big enough to accommodate both of them.

He takes his time washing up Clifford’s bowl, refilling his water, but Clifford seems perfectly content to doze back off to sleep after his meal, leaving Luke with nothing to do but think about how fucking tired he actually is.

“I think I might sleep,” he says, even though he doesn’t really have to announce it to Ashton. Ashton looks up from where he is on his bed, book in his hand, and nods.

“I think I might too,” he says. “Do you want the bathroom first?” Luke blinks at him.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.” Ashton nods, and turns back to his book, but when Luke turns his back to get his things out of his still-packed suitcase, he can feel Ashton’s eyes on him.

He makes quick work of putting his pyjamas on and brushing his teeth, only hesitating with his hand on the bathroom door handle to leave as he throws a quick glance at himself in the mirror, because he looks so fucking disarmed in his pyjamas, so strangely small and vulnerable. Whatever, he thinks, forcing himself to push the door open, because what the fuck else is he going to do, sleep in the bathroom?

“Bathroom’s free,” he says, because it feels like what he should say, turning his back to Ashton and making a show out of putting his clothes in his suitcase. He should probably just unpack it, he thinks - he is going to be here for four weeks, after all - but not tonight. He’s too fucking tired for that.

“Thanks,” Ashton says, and Luke hears the sound of a book closing and then feet shuffling as Ashton heads for the bathroom. He waits for the door to click shut behind him before tucking himself into bed, drawing the duvet close to his chin to try and keep the cold out. Why the fuck is it so cold in England, seriously?

Ashton doesn’t take long, or maybe Luke falls into microsleep, or something, because it feels like it’s about two seconds before he’s coming out of the bathroom, placing his clothes on the chair opposite his bed, and getting into bed. He’s got plaid pyjama bottoms and a casual t-shirt on, and he looks just as disarmed and vulnerable as Luke had in the mirror, which makes Luke feel simultaneously better and worse.

“Can I turn the light off?” Ashton asks, and Luke nods. Ashton reaches over, clicks the light switch, and they’re plunged into darkness.

“Night,” Ashton says after a moment, and there’s a shuffling sound from his bed.

“Night,” Luke says, suddenly wide awake. He rolls onto his side and stares at the wall opposite him, willing the exhaustion that he’s felt all day to return. Even if he hadn’t slept, like, three fucking hours, he should be tired; it’s the middle of the night in Sydney.

He feels the time passing, times it by Ashton’s shuffling and Clifford’s even breathing and the noises from the street outside, and he’s sure it’s been at least an hour before there’s what sounds like Ashton flopping onto his back and sighing.

“Are you awake?” he whispers. Luke debates saying nothing, but knows if he evens his breathing out now it’s going to be pretty fucking obvious he wasn’t.

“Yeah,” he says, a little reluctantly.

“I can’t sleep,” Ashton says.

“Me either.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Ashton says-

“We could push the beds together?” Luke squeezes his eyes shut, and Ashton takes the silence as hesitation. “Just for tonight. We’d sleep much better, and we probably need it for tomorrow.”

“No,” Luke says. Civil is one thing, but spending an entire night pressed up against Ashton? That’s something else entirely.

“Luke, I-”

“Ashton, I said no.” Ashton’s silent for a moment, and then sighs.

“Okay,” he says, and it sounds a little small. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, like. Push.” Luke inhales deeply, exhales heavily, and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s fine,” he says.

Ashton says nothing, but Luke doesn’t hear his breathing even out until Luke himself falls into an uneasy, dreamless sleep, and when he wakes up in the morning, exhausted and grumpy, Ashton’s staring up at the ceiling again (or maybe still).

taglist: @sadistmichael @callmeboatboy @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @queer-5sos @haikucal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @i-am-wierd-always

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#lashton #malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfic #i am so exhausted i am gonna answer messages tomorrow i'm so sorry #but i hve seen and appreciate all of them and i LOVE each and every one of u #and i do not deserve any of u #u are all so lovely and sweet to me and then in return i give u This #hmm...helen is cancelled #its confirmed

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jungshookz · 6 years ago

Text

the one where yoongi finds the scrapbook you didn’t have the chance to give him

☁ pairing: min yoongi x reader

☁ genre: android!yoongi universe, heartwrenching angst, sad hours!!

☁ summary: yoongi misses you more than you could ever know.

☁ wordcount: 2.4k

☁ trigger warnings: mentions of character death

☁ note: sUPER!!!!! important that you listen to this while you read the drabble to set the mood! i tried to keep the drabble short so that you’d be able to finish reading it just as the song wraps up buT once again this was a baby drabble that spun out of control so i suppose you could always play it on repeat til ya finish reading lol // this drabble honestly came out of nowhere buT it was really gloomy out today so i wrote a drabble inspired by the movie ‘up’

(gif isn’t mine!)

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

yoongi first stumbles upon the scrapbook when going through the closet to choose an outfit for you (he ended up choosing that dark blue floral dress you liked so much)

he thought it was one of your old notebooks from university but… it’s not

it was tucked underneath a whole bunch of old shoe boxes filled with extra nuts and bolts and wires

‘𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓯𝓯 𝔀𝓮 𝓭𝓲𝓭’

yoongi furrows his brows as he brushes his fingers over the foam letters that have obviously been hot glued onto the front of the faded leather journal

he opens the book to a random page and his eyes immediately start watering when he sees your handwriting

you always did have the prettiest handwriting

‘remember when-‘

yoongi slaps the book shut and shakes his head before tucking it away and getting back up onto his creaky knees

(namjoon’s starting to lose his touch) ((yoongi noticed his frail fingers trembling the other day when he was tightening a screw in his leg))

he’s not going to read the book

yoongi shuts the closet door quietly

he’s not going to even open the book

the thing is

yoongi still hasn’t touched the book but he’s thought about it every single day

he hasn’t touched it because he knows that if he opens it up and looks through it the realisation that you’re no longer with him will finally start to sink in

he knows it’s been two months since you passed

he knows it’s been two months since he last held your hand and kissed you and told you how much he loved you

he knows it’s been two months since he last woke up to the sight of you curled up next to him

he knows it’s been two months since he’s started coming back to a cold and dark apartment instead of a warm and bright one where you greet him at the door and smother him in kisses before starting to blab about your day

it’s just

weird

it’s weird not having you around

it’s weird not hearing you tinker around in the kitchen at three in the morning snacking on some animal crackers or going hAm on a tub of ice cream (even after all these years he still thinks it’s funny how you always seem to think you can get away with your midnight snacking)

it’s weird having to wash and dry the dishes all by himself because you were always the designated dryer and he’s caught himself holding out a freshly washed plate next to him on more than one occasion

he’s used to you standing right next to him and now there’s no one there

it’s weird doing all the chores alone

you were awful at folding the laundry but yoongi liked having you next to him struggling to fold up a pair of jeans

it’s weird not seeing you vacuum the living room while humming a song to yourself and bopping around all over the place

it’s weird when he cooks dinner now because he doesn’t have you peeking over his shoulder and begging him to give you a little taste of the spaghetti sauce before he plates dinner

it’s weird watching tv alone

it’s weird not turning his head and seeing you all snuggled up on your sofa chair because you fell asleep halfway through a movie of yoongi’s choice (you were never really an action movie person)

it’s weird not having to pull the covers aggressively over him halfway through the night because you were always a blanket hogger

it’s weird not making faces with you in the mirror every morning when the two of you are brushing your teeth

he hasn’t touched any of your things

your toothbrush is still sitting next to his

the right side of the bed still belongs to you

the framed picture of you and namjoon from university days still sits on your bedside counter (right next to the framed picture of you and yoongi at that pottery place you took him to for his birthday) ((the two of you are sitting across from each other and your clay-stained hands are squishing yoongi’s cheeks together while yoongi’s face is all scrunched up)) (((jungkook took the photo)))

the right side of the closet still belongs to you

all your old cardigans and sweaters and t-shirts (some borrowed aka stolen from yoongi) are still hanging there

the knitted blanket that he made for you still hangs over the arm of your chair in the living room

he hasn’t even touched the jar of soft caramel chews that sit on the coffee table (it took a loT of convincing for yoongi to let you fill an entire jar up with candy)

the apartment is far too quiet

the only thing that can be heard right now is the soft pitter patter of the rain against the windows and the occasional rumble of thunder

yoongi glances out the window for a brief second and watches as a flash of lightning lights up the sky for a moment

it’s been raining a lot as of late

you always thought that rainy days were perfect for staying inside to snuggle up together and read a book

yoongi perks up slightly and looks down the hallway to where the bedroom is

…a book.

“You were never really an arts and crafts person, so this is a surprise to me.” yoongi says aloud as he sits back down on his chair with the leather scrapbook on his lap

he smooths a hand over the front cover and raises a brow when he notices one of the foam letters coming loose “You have the crafting abilities of a child, you know that?”

he can practically feel you slapping his arm and letting out a whine at how hard he’s ripping into your crafting abilities

he gives it a quick flip through as to prepare himself for all the things he’s about to see

the book is practically bursting considering it seems like you tried to shove as much stuff in here as possible

also the pages smell like the perfume you like to wear

very sweet and flowery

you’ve taped polaroid pictures in there along with other little mementoes like movie tickets and a copy of your work ID from bangtan laboratories and even a copy of yoongi’s blueprints that you stole from namjoon and a couple dried petals from the bouquet of roses yoongi gave to you on one valentine’s day aND of course the bracelets you got from when yoongi took you to the winter carnival

there are even the photobooth pictures that you guys took at the carnival

yoongi proposed to you halfway through posing for pictures because he wanted to be able to capture the exact moment he asked you to marry him

the first picture is of you mimicking yoongi’s poker face (he always thought your poker face was shiT) ((and he was right)) with yoongi rolling his eyes next to you

the second picture is of you with your tongue sticking out and your eyes crossed as yoongi is faced away from the camera rummaging through his jacket pocket

the third picture is of you suddenly being aware of the purple velvet box yoongi has in his hand and the look of pure shock on your face aLways makes him laugh

the fourth picture is of you with watery eyes and a gaPing mouth because yoongi just asked you to marry him

and the last picture is of you practically tackling yoongi in the cramped booth

all that can be seen is one of yoongi’s legs and arms in the air because you did actually tackle him strAight out of the booth

he flips to the next page and purses his lips when he sees that there’s nothing on the page besides a hastily written note

‘flip to page 6’

yoongi can’t help but snort lightly when he sees the note you left for him on page 6

‘made you look, you gullible-ass android - you were always so easy to prank! still love you though xoxoxoxoxo’

it looks like you left a kiss mark next to the note even though it’s kind of faded now

he always liked it when you wore that wine-red lipstick

‘remember when you got mad at me for breaking my bracelet that one time? …i kind of did it again.’

you took your bracelet apart and pulled out the wires and then glued them into the shape of a heart for the sake of sticking it into your scrapbook and yoongi laughs lightly at the memory of him taking care of you all night after he picked you up from that club and you were practically stumbling all over the damn place

he remembers how you asked him to stay with you that night after he tucked you into bed

and he did

he stayed with you

you told him he was warm and he said it was because of his generator

he only said that because he was nervous!!!!

there’s a handwritten recipe for chocolate chip zucchini bread taped to this page

he smiles and dusts his fingers over the spot on the page that’s been stained with chocolate

he remembers how he insisted on making zucchini bread for your birthday instead of a traditional birthday cake because it was his way of sneaking more vegetables into your diet and aLso it has less sugar and is less fattening so!!!!

also zucchini bread is vEry good and you can’t even taste the zucchini so it’s a win-win situation

and somehow you had snuck into the kitchen while he left to go dig through the pantry for some sugar and you had sprinkled a handful of chocolate chips into the batter before quickly getting the heCk out of there

yoongi hadn’t noticed the chocolate chips until he cut a slice for you and noticed that his knife had streaks of melted chocolate and-

“You didn’t.” yoongi gawks and watches as you rip a chunk off and pop it into your mouth

you swallow your bite and hum happily “oh, but i did!”

yoongi sighs and reaches over to dot a bit of melted chocolate onto the tip of your nose “You drive me absolutely crazy, you know that?”

“i’ve been told.”

and on this page you made a little pocket and slipped the CD from your wedding into it

‘side a has our wedding video; side b has all the songs we danced to.’

yoongi recalls the night you came home with a whole list of songs that you wanted to dance to at the wedding

yoongi wasn’t programmed to be a dancing android so he was ready to download some software and become a professional waltzer in five seconds flat but you stopped him because you said you wanted to teach him how to dance

“Learning is hard.” yoongi grumbles as he tries to figure out the footwork of the waltz “Also, shouldn’t I be leading this dance?”

“i’m going to lose my toes if you lead the dance.” you snort and hit the play button on your phone “now, c’mon!”

yoongi lets out a sigh as you place your hand on his shoulder and he reaches out to grip at your waist

you take his other hand in yours and take a step forward

yoongi takes a step back at the same time

okay

yeah

this is boring

yoongi’s not doing this

“I do not want to waltz.”

you let out a gasp when yoongi suddenly spins you around in a circle before pulling you close and wrapping his arms around your waist

“Can we dance like this?” he grabs your arms before hanging them loosely around his neck

you let out a soft giggle and lean in to press your forehead against his as the two of you sway back and forth “you’re lucky i love you so much.”

“That is one of the reasons as to why you are marrying me, yes?”

“…you got me there.”

as he continues to flip through the book and look through all the memories that he shared with you, yoongi feels a lump growing in his throat and a twinge of pain blossom in his chest when he reaches the last page and sees that you’ve left a note for him

he brushes his fingers across each word

‘to my favourite human mind model adaptive super android, m1n y00ng1: thank you for giving me the best years of my life. thank you for being my best friend. thank you for the adventure of a lifetime. i love you. yours forever, y/n.’

the note is fairly short and sweet but it still manages to make yoongi let out a choked sob

thank you for giving me the best years of my life.

you were the best thing to ever happen to him

thank you for being my best friend. thank you for the adventure of a lifetime.

you made him so immensely happy and he’s enjoyed spending his life with you because you really were the love of his life

i love you.

he loves you now and he’ll love you forever.

he misses you.

he misses you so much it hurts

he misses the sound of your laugh and the feeling of your skin and the smell of your hair

he misses hearing you call for him when you need help with something and he misses having you scold him for not charging up overnight and instead playing video games with jungkook (it took more than a couple years but he eventually warmed up to the goofball)

yoongi’s vision is completely blurred from how many tears keep leaking out of his eyes

he reaches up to cover his face with his hands after a droplet drips down from his chin and bleeds into the paper

this is the first time he’s properly sobbed since your funeral

he kept it together for the most part but as soon as he got home and shut the door behind him he collapsed to his knees and began to cry his heart out

but of course

he knew that you always hated seeing him cry so he forced himself to get a hold of himself for as long as possible

but looking through this scrapbook that you made detailing your guys’ life together is just too much for him to bear

he holds the book to his chest and shuts his eyes before leaning his head back against the plush chair

a single tear rolls down the side of his face

yoongi misses you every day

but on your guys’ anniversary?

he can’t help but miss you a little more than usual.

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himbowelsh · 5 years ago

Text

anonymous asked: Babe be so cute in that legendary darts scene no wonder Easy took him in right away. Look at him. You take one look at that kid and you want to protect him at all costs. He looks like he could bring you luck. Imagine Easy dragging Babe everywhere because Bill's team won some game once right after Babe started playing and everyone got it into their heads that Babe is their personal rabbit's foot. His friends running up to him to like rub his shoulder or touch his head because they gotta win!

ok so i just had to fic this, and it spiralled from there

Somewhere around Babe’s fourth Easter — and he only knows that because his brother Johnny was just a baby, and his sister wasn’t around at all — the family had an Unfortunate Rabbit Incident.

To be specific: Uncle Eddie tried to surprise the kids by bringing home a tiny bunny in a basket, surrounded by fake tissue paper grass. It was a real nice gesture... but got less Alice-In-Wonderland when the family’s dog, massive, shaggy Bumble, caught sight of the thing.

Uncle Eddie set the basket down, and Bumble went straight for the kill.

The children were screaming. Bumble was missing for hours. The bunny fled the scene, vanishing somewhere into Babe’s rough South Philly neighborhood, never to be seen again. Ma ended up burning the ham. It was a traumatic Easter.

That’s just part of the reason rabbits have always made Babe shudder a little. The root of the problem — not that he’s the introspective sort, but some things just stay with you — was the old rabbit’s foot Nanny Heffron used to wear on a chain ‘round her neck. Now, Nanny Heffron was a real character. The rabbit’s foot wasn’t close to the weirdest thing about her — that’d be the glass eye — but it sure ranked up there. It was an old, ratty thing, hanging on a rust-rotten chain. In absent moments, Nanny’s hand would drift to it, and she’d rub the little devil like she was trying to press some life back into it. “This,” she declared once, holding the nasty ornament very close to little Babe’s face, “brings me all my luck.”

That next week, Nanny Heffron was run over by a taxi cab.

She survived, to be fair, so maybe there was something to be said for the rabbit’s foot. Still, that ain’t the point.

The worst ever Easter, or Nanny Heffron’s mummified rabbit foot… take your pick. Fact of the matter is, Babe’s never loved bunnies, Easter’s no favorite holiday, and he sure doesn’t believe little superstitious things bring any sort of luck.

He’s not sure he believes in luck at all, really. When he mentioned the word in front of Bill, his friend just scoffed. “Ain’t no luck in war,” Bill declared around a mouthful of ham-and-cheese sandwich. “You can be the luckiest bastard in the world, ‘til one day you’re not. What’s it matter then? If I’m standing in one spot and a fella’s standing right next to me, and he gets blown to bits, am I lucky it wasn’t me? Or was I just standing in the right place?”

“Think they’re the same thing,” Babe pointed out, sipping his juice doubtfully. “You’re thinking of destiny. Divine what’s-it-called.”

“That too,” Bill declared, holding up a finger. “Ain’t no such thing. Maybe seems like it back home, but not here… and if it ain’t here, it’s nowhere.”

“That don’t make sense either.”

“Don’t irrigate me, Babe,” Bill scoffed, and shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.

But, like most of the half-sensical thing Bill says, Babe took it as gospel. For better or worse… ear is war. There’s no luck to it — only what happens to you, and what happens to the guy standing next to you.

Maybe if he paid more attention to things like superstition and general company gossip, he’d have caught on a bit sooner.

“It’s just strange, is all,” Hashey declares. “We get invited places too.”

After all, it wasn’t like their generation were green replacements anymore; they’d jumped into Holland, and suffered the rains of Market Garden like everybody else. Now, the Toccoa boys reached outside their circle for extra hands in games of craps and darts, and never looked sideways when older replacements joined their drinking games. They didn’t mind having Hashey or Garcia in their party… but, for some reason, the offer was always extended to Babe, and they always insisted he accept.

Which would be fine, if it were just one of two nights — but they’re going on their second week in Mourmelon now, and Babe’s been dragged out every single night.

He’s got to sleep… ideally, sleep off this constant hangover, from night after night of drinking. Just a few hours of downtime, that’s all he’s asking here. Is it really so much?

For the fellas, yes, apparently. “I tried to tell ‘em no,” he protests, looking helplessly between his two fellow former replacements. “But they wouldn’t take that for an answer. You ever gone up against Luz and Toye when they’re set on something? It ain’t pretty.”

“Why don’t they make such a big deal about us going out?”

The opportunity is there. It's too easy for Babe to summon a grin. “Maybe they don’t like yous as much as me, huh? I’m a popular guy.”

“Sure.” Garcia huffs a laugh. “That’s what it is.”

Babe pauses just to blink at him, thoroughly offended.

“Jeez, Tony, tell me how you really feel.”

“We only mean,” Hashey interjects, drowning out Garcia’s very vocal eye roll, “it’s obvious why they want you there. Think about it, Babe. Any time someone’s going up for a round of darts —“

“Lieutenant Compton started it,” Garcia declares. “Back in Aldbourne. He set the example.”

Buck Compton is a hulking quarterback with a booming voice, bigger than most guys in personality alone; he’s good at setting examples. Maybe Babe modeled his dart throwing technique after Buck, but he really didn’t pick up on anything else. As his eyes narrow, he plants his hands on his hips — an eerie imitation of his Ma — and peers at his friends. “So what are you boys implying?”

Hashey and Garcia exchange glances, almost guilty, before they look back up at him again. “They don’t want you as a drinking buddy, Babe,” Hashey finally says. “You’re their rabbit’s foot.”

And that’s the point Babe Heffron’s social life takes a turn for the bizarre and slightly unsettling.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The thing is, once he’s noticed it, there’s no unnoticing it. Everything that seemed so innocuous before has taken on a darker meaning. Now, when Luz claps him on the shoulder before starting a game of craps, or when Hoobler ruffles his hair just before going in on a bet, it doesn’t feel so friendly. Whenever he’s dragged into a game of darts or pool — inevitably to get trounced himself, but see the fella who convinced him to join come out winning — he catches the looks they shoot him, like he’s just handed them some sorta prize.

He doesn’t like it. It leaves him feeling used, dammit.

When Perconte solicits his opinion on some bet, Babe shoots out the first answer he thinks of. A part of him probably tries to get it wrong, just to spite them all.

Perconte wins three-hundred bucks.

The worst part is, it’s clearly been knowledge to everyone but him this entire time. When Julian — Julian, outta everybody! — pats his back before stepping up to the dartboard, Babe glares daggers at him.

“You kidding me? You’re in this too?”

“It’s science, Heffron,” the kid just shrugs. “Maybe you don’t mean to do it, but whatever you’re doing, it’s working. People keep winning.”

“I’m not doing a—“ Babe’s exclamation cuts off when Julian throws the dart. A goddamn bullseye, on his first try.

Babe’s so agitated that when it’s his turn to throw, the dart buries itself into the wall. He doesn’t even hit the target.

Somewhere beyond the grave, Nanny Heffron’s gotta be just cackling.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Babe’s newfound revelation lets him beg a few excuses for nights he just doesn’t want to go out. Nine times out of ten, though, he gets dragged into something anyways, be it a craps game in the barracks or a lottery in the mess hall. Even Babe’s solitude isn’t really that, because fellas still come up to him whenever they apparently feel like it — clapping his shoulder with a “Hey, Heffron,” or “How’s it going, Babe?” before bee lining straight to their game. There’s no peace. There’s no sanity. The non-coms are in on it, the Toccoa men, the replacements… he’s just about ready to decide that nothing can surprise him when Harry Welsh comes up behind him in the pub and ruffles his hair out of nowhere.

Babe yelps, doubling over his mug of beer. When he reels around, he couldn’t be more affronted if he tried. “You too, Lieutenant?”

Harry just shrugs, flashing a gap-toothed grin. “Don’t take it personal, Heffron. Daddy needs a shinier pair of boots.”

“It’s all malarkey, you know. Like — actual malarkey,” he can’t help shouting after Harry as he heads across the room towards a game of poker. “Ain’t no such thing as luck!”

Without looking back, Harry laughs. “If you really think that, you don’t deserve to call yourself Irish.”

“Y’know, the luck of the Irish has historically been fuckin’ terrible!”

At this point, Babe’s really just shouting across the pub, and no one cares. Absolutely no-freakin’-one.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry makes his way back across the room, struggling to tuck a massive wad of cash into his pants pocket. “The luck of the Heffron has historically been absolutely incredible,” he declares, and ruffles Babe’s hair once more for good luck. “Thanks, Private.”

Babe drains his beer and orders another.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bill comes back in the second week of December, when Easy has already made themselves very comfortable in their rest period. Babe greets his friend with enthusiasm, smacking Bill on the back hard enough to rattle him. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!” he crows, and means it — because Bill Guarnere don’t take any guff. If anyone’s gonna put an end to this whole “Lucky Babe” nonsense, it’s him.

The last thing Babe expects is for Bill to become the worst of them all.

“Come on, kid! Just one smooch, that’s all it’ll take.”

As Bill rattles the dice insistently in his face, Babe twists away. Biting him is too tempting, but if anyone would bite back, it’d be Wild Bill. Babe’s not taking any chances with that jaw of his. “Get the hell outta here,” he snaps instead, shoving at his best friend’s chest. “What do I look like to you, a goddamn horseshoe?”

“I’ve seen horseshoes prettier than you. Now, c’mon.” Ever persistent, Bill rounds to Babe’s other side, still shaking the dice. “Make like they’re Darlin’ Doris’s dumplings and pucker up!”

“I’m a gentleman on the first date,” Babe insists, glaring.

Bill makes a noise somewhere between a snarl and choking on his own spit. He rolls his eyes skyward… and, just because Babe’s the best damn friend any fool’s ever had, he gives the dice a reluctant blow. “There. Now get lost, will ya?”

Hooting, Bill races off to join the game. He leaves it a hundred dollars richer.

“Knew we keep you around for a reason, kid!” he crows afterwards, waving his money around the bar like he’s showing off his own child. It's around this time Babe goes from considerably annoyed to genuinely offended.

It’s not quite the idea that his friends don’t actually like him — because of course they like him, he’s a goddamn delight — but that they’re willing to use that liking to their advantage. Babe’s a buddy, and buddies shouldn’t be props; he’s not some lucky trinket you tuck into your pocket before a night out, he’s a human being. A sensitive soul! If they’re gonna use him as a prop, they may as well just tell him.

“So we know Heffron ain’t gonna win anything tonight, but he’s out to make all of us a lot richer,” Liebgott declares, clapping Babe on the back as they sit in a circle for a game of craps.

“I hope you shit bricks for a week,” Babe, the sensitive soul, declares.

It’s not like he’s their only option. Malarkey’s ginger, he’s Irish, and he loves to gamble! What’s more, he survived D-Day on top of Market Garden, and hasn’t been injured yet, so his luck is clearly going just fine for him.

When he points this out, Malarkey spits out his own drink, and Muck nearly falls off his chair laughing. “Someone’s never been gambling with Malarkey!”

“He loses money faster than they can print it,” Penkala chimes, swatting away Don’s retaliatory grab for his sandwich. “Complete opposite effect. Games break up when they see him coming.”

“People take their money and run!” Muck snickers.

Malarkey, flared up like an indignant pigeon, has to chime in. “Yeah, cause they know I’m gonna take it from them!”

It’s scary how quickly Muck sobers, turning on a dime; the smile melts from his face as he sits straight up, laughter dying off into eerie stillness. “Malark,” he says, staring his friend dead in the eyes. “You owe me over three hundred dollars.”

Penkala’s eyes bulge. Babe takes a large step back, suddenly terrified for the safety of his own wallet.

“That’s not — hey, come on! If Babe would just blow on my cards a little, or something — Babe! Hey, Babe, are you playing cards tonight? Where are you going?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The last person he expects to be pouring his heart out to, somewhere around midnight, after an evening of questionable French beer and avoiding his friends’ efforts to leech off his karma, is Doc Roe.

The Doc makes a habit of not fraternizing with any of the men, which Babe can almost understand… but even saints have gotta drink sometimes, and tonight happens to be Roe’s night. He’s probably have gladly passed the evening alone, sitting in the back of the bar with a book open in front of him, if Babe hadn’t retreated to the shadows to hide from Bill’s dice.

“It just ain’t fair!” he declares, swirling the amber liquid in his half-empty glass. Fifth? Sixth? Who knows anymore? “‘Parently I’m a lightning rod of luck for everybody else. Everybody else… and I don’t even get any of it myself? Not a lick.” His mug clatters back down on the table, as Babe tilts his head back to glare at the pub’s wooden ceiling. “Somebody’s playing games up there, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Roe would be completely justified not engaging with this conversation at all. For some reason, he humors Babe. “Look at it this way, Heffron,” he says slowly, dragging each word out in that honey-sweet drawl ‘til Babe wishes he could drink that up too. “You ever been hit?”

Babe snorts. “No, Doc. I think I’d remember.”

“So would I.” Roe arches an eyebrow. He almost looks amused. “You ever been blown up?”

Babe double-checks to see if his arms and legs are intact. “Hmm. Not that I know of.”

“A lot of guys can’t say the same. Seems like your luck is working just fine.”

“But —“ He fumbles for words, startled. Now Roe is smirking, a quiet, half-shadowed thing. For some reason, it leaves Babe feeling dumb. Which could be all the drink, sure, but he’s no lightweight, and liquor’s never made him feel like this. Nothing about Roe’s smile is mocking, yet Babe somehow feels like the butt of the joke anyways. Dissatisfied, he finally slumps forward, leaning over the tabletop with a sigh. “It ain’t the same.”

Roe considers this for a long moment. His white fingers play over the pages of his book, contemplating turning it, but he ultimately just ends up leaving creases in the white canvas. When Roe leans forward too — until his chest is pressed against the tabletop, leaving them nearly nose-to-nose — it takes Babe aback.

“Remember when you fell through that stair rail in Neunen and nearly split your head open like a melon?” Roe asks, eyes black and serene.

“But I didn’t!” Babe exclaims, eager to defend his honor. It’d hurt a lot, sure, but he’s made it through worse accidents unscathed. Broken a lot of things, sure, but never himself.

Roe’s lips twitch up in a smirk. He drums his fingers on the tabletop, so close that Babe can hear them, can see every individual impact register in the Doc’s shoulder. When Gene Roe smiles, he looks younger, lighter.

“Your luck’s working just the way it should be, Heffron.”

Babe’s family has another popular saying — “knock on wood”, when someone says something a bit too good to be true. It’s no rabbit’s foot, maybe… but as a kid, Babe took the saying literally, and got bloody knuckles for his trouble.

For the first time, though… he feels like he’s actually won something. Doc Roe’s little smile is all for him, and Babe doesn’t have to share it with anyone at all.

“Hey, Doc,” he says after a moment, voice deceptively light. “You up for a game of darts?”

#had to repost this because it posted weird #there's like... cameos from everybody in here #and if you don't think babe's the type of person to tell a really bizarre personal story on the way to some roundabout point u are wrONg #band of brothers #babe heffron #hbo war #my writing

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unofficialkfamtranscripts · 5 years ago

Text

King Falls AM - Episode Twelve: All the Pretty Flowers

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Summary: October 15, 2015 - Against Ben's wishes, Sammy broaches a touchy subject after witnessing a hearse delivering white roses on his way into the station. Is it a King Falls Halloween tradition or could it be something more sinister? #RedRumRoses

[podcast intro music]

[jazz music]

Chet Well the clock on the wall is telling me that’s all, y’all. So I’m gonna mosey on down to The Red Rock bar and buy all the ladies a drink on me. But don’t try to fool me again, Dennis. This has been Chet Sebastian’s Jazz Corner. Until next time… keep it cool King Falls.

[Sammy & Ben Show intro music]

Ben Good evening, you’re listening to King Falls AM [door closing]– that’s 660 on the radio dial. [slightly irked] And this is the Sammy and Ben show— sans-Sammy at the moment.

[footsteps]

Sammy Sorry about that, Ben! everybody at home. I was just running a little late. I was j- Y-you know, I just saw the weirdest thing!

Ben Was it Chet leaving? I told him to take that fur coat off. Guy looks like he walked off a set of a Blaxploitation[1] film.

Sammy *laughs* No, I wish I’d seen that. But I was driving in tonight- I was running a tad bit late, as you can see, and I swear to you: I’m coming up Main Street, I got behind a hearse delivering these giant white rose bouquets! Like, every couple of streets the damn thing’s stoppin’!

Ben No.

Sammy No *laughs* yeah it did.

Ben … SOOOOO… Weee’ve got a great show for you folks tonight. Uh, Ernie Salcedo…

Sammy Ben.

Ben *pointedly clearing his throat* … Yes?

Sammy Okay, I can see you slashing at your neck furiously and shaking your head “no”, but the audience can’t. Sooo, what’s the issue here?

Ben *nervously* I’m sorry we… just don’t talk about this, Sammy.

Sammy So you know of it! Is it like some kind of weird Halloween thing?

Ben [flatly] Halloween? Are you serious? We don’t celebrate Halloween here in the Falls, Sammy.

Sammy WHAT? This is like friggin’ Halloween Town! You know those shops that open up every year around Halloween and close the day after? King Falls is where all those shops should move to when it’s not Halloween.

Ben Two things. 1) That’s a horrible business model, and 2) Halloween is one, big, diabetic pumpkin.

Sammy Come on? You don’t like decorating? Trick-or-treating?

Ben ALL OF IT. It’s like you’re— tempting these ghouls and goblins to come and mess with you. We get enough of that here. And again, diabetes.

Sammy Okay, I can see where you’re coming from, but I’m not gonna lie— this is kind of a surprise.

Ben What can I say? We’re more the Christmas or Arbor Day types.

Sammy Okay, so the hearse is delivering flowers. What’s the deal if it’s not a Halloween… ritual?

Ben Did you really see that? Did someone tell you to mess with me about this?

Sammy Scout’s Honor. I was late because of it! I illegally passed on a double yellow line (sorry Deputy Troy) just to skate around ‘em and make my way up the mountain.

Ben … I don’t like this. I-I don’t know that I’ve ever known anyone that saw the flowers delivered. Usually businesses and people just find the wreaths the next morning. D-Di-Did you see inside the hearse? Was it… people?

Sammy You know, I didn’t look, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say… it was a human being.

Ben Well, that’s good. *breath* It’s something.

Sammy Okay, so the roses…

Ben [voice breaking] Damnit, Sammy! We got a show scheduled, ya know?

Sammy I’m well aware! Just fill me in about the roses and we’ll move on.

Ben [muttering] Yeah yeah, okay, so… *deep breath* Every year, around this time—

Sammy Halloween…

Ben OCTOBER.

Sammy Uh-huh…

Ben Every— October… there is a certain society of people— and I use the term “people” loosely— that congregate and deliver the rose wreaths to individuals and businesses. That’s— a fact.

Sammy And?

Ben Annnd… nobody really knows what happens after that.

Sammy [audible grin] But legend has it…!

Ben Don’t “legend-has-it” me! Nobody knows for sure! Why gossip?

Sammy Okay. What do you think happens, Ben?

Ben *breathes in* Uuuugghhhh… Well, I think people either accept this weird— invitation or… they don’t. But I can tell you, the people that don’t? Well… they don’t, last long after that.

Sammy Okay. So we’ve just went from spooky 1-800-Flowers to murder in only a few easy steps.

Ben Not- murder- per say, but… businesses that decline tend to… move away or go under. Or tragedy strikes. Sure, I-I’ve heard stories of these folks winding up on the wrong end of a funeral ceremony, but… I couldn’t prove it. Are you satisfied now?

Sammy Of course. Thank you, Ben. King Falls, you’ve heard our story, now let’s hear yours!

Ben DON’T open the phone lines!

Sammy We’re-opening-up the phone lines here at the station! 424-279-3858. Have you had contact with this demonic annual floral delivery? Hit us up!

Ben Don’t call or tweet us. Please.

Sammy Give us a call or tweet us @KingFallsAM, [smugly] Ben will personally answer every tweet #RedrumRoses[2]

Ben NOPE! Not gonna happen.

Sammy Ben…[faux sympathy] It looks like the phone lines are lighting up, buddy.

Ben I expected better of you, King Falls.

Sammy Lucky Line 1, you’re on the air with Sammy And Ben.

Pete Low-down, gossip-mongering, muckraking filth.

Ben [flatly] Pete?

Sammy [quiet and amused] Escobar?

Pete N-uh- it’s Pete. You know damn well I’m listenin’.

Ben Wwhat’s on your mind tonight, Pete?

Sammy Did your mom teach you to start off phone calls with name-calling, Pete?

Pete [faint creaking in bg] My mom taught me to… stand up for myself! Don’t start a fight, but don’t be afraid to end it.

Sammy Who’s fighting?

Pete Oh, what a short attention span you have, Sammy. Not dwelling on you and Mr. Howard Ford Beauregard III issues; you’re picking a fight with the Unknown! Ben told you to shut your trap. [very faint sounds of driving]

Sammy Heh, lemme tell you, this would a long four hours if we didn’t talk and, y’ know, sometimes you have to—

Pete Yeah yeah, I get it, Mr. Nincompoop Radio Host. [creaking] You gotta blab. But that’s something you don’t trifle with. You should know this.

Ben Sammy, you know I hate to say Pete is right about anything, but—

Pete But I’m right about this! I know you know, Ben. That’s all I need to know. Stop yapping about things you don’t understand.

Ben Thanks, Pete.

Sammy [mostly resigned] Did you have a question or an experience with the flowers, Pete?

Pete Abs-absolutely not! I– d-don’t try to get me in trouble. [car door closing]

Ben You okay over there, Pete?

Pete [failing at being nonchalant] Yeah I’m just out, and… uh, just out.

Sammy [incredulous] This time of night?

[car door slamming]

Pete Yeah! I’m- runnin’ errands and- stuff like that, y’know. ‘T’s- It’s not- it’s not your business!

Ben [literally tongue-in-cheek] Uh-huh…

Pete You’re makin’ something of this. Yer- you’re doin’ somethin’, you’re getting me invo— Stop.

Ben It’s just weird, Mr. Beauregard’s gardener is out at 2 in the morning, running errands.

Sammy So your boss doesn’t have anything to do with the roses, does he, Pete?

Pete Ben Arnold. If you’ve got a lick of good sense, I wouldn’t walk too close to Sammy for the next feww… mm— mmmm… lifetimes! He’s gonna wind up on the bottom end of an anvil.

Sammy You know, I just don’t think asking questions is the equivalent of buying ACME rocket kits and trying to catch a damn bird.[3]

Ben [semi-stern] Y’mind answering his question, Pete?

[creaking]

Pete Oh, HELL NO. You two are a couple ‘a horse patoots. I’m never listening to this show again.

Ben Until tomorrow.

Pete PETE OUT! [click, dial tone]

Ben Are you happy, Sammy? Is this what you were hoping for?

Sammy Civilized conversation is the only thing I look for. That said… I’m gonna say, it’s a tad bit suspicious.

Ben There are dots we don’t need to connect. MOVING ON!

Sammy Maybe you’re right.

Ben Folks, we’re gonna take a break to pay some bills, and we’ll be right back and on schedule.

[rattle, guitar strums]

Dale (presumably) [voice is a low murmur (for lack of a better word)] Dale’s Dollar Tree… [strum] at dirt cheap prices… [strum] it’s almost free. [guitar,western music] Hi, everybody, I’m super excited to tell you ‘bout some unbelievable deals we have right now… at Dale’s Dollar Tree. Let’s segue to the savin’s [eagle screech] Our low prices are guaranteed… Who’s guaranteeing it, you ask? … Me… [guitar stops] How do you take advantage of these savings? [strum, rattle] 1) Walk into Dale’s Dollar Tree [strum] 2) Throw somethin’ in your cart [strum] 3) Savings. [guitar] Dale’s Dollar Tree. [eagle screech]

[S&B theme]

Sammy Ladies and gentlemen, we are back and you’re listening to King Falls AM. Now we were just talking about me running late this morning, because of a, uh, hearse—

Ben [cutting Sammy off] So we’ve got a great show scheduled tonight. We’ve got Mr. Eli Goldblum on later in the hour.

Sammy And who is Mr. Goldblum?

Ben Are you kidding me? Only the most renowned post-mortal psychologist known to man! He’s on his spoken-word world tour, and this Thursday, you can see him live at the King Falls Convention Center.

Sammy … That’sss-something.

Ben Indeed! So that’s in about… forrrty minutes. Uh, we got Rose, (from Rose’s Diner, of course) calling in to talk about how the Bee Crisis is affecting her honey-baked ham specials for the- foreseeable future.

Sammy [TIL] Really? That’s something that’s happening?

Ben Come on, Sammy. This bee situation is serious business.

Sammy You get points for not buzzing or saying “beeees-ness”

Ben You don’t wanna know how hard that was…

Sammy -eh- Okay. So, how can we help with the bees?

Ben Uhhh… cut- back- on swatting them?? *awkward laugh* I-I-I don’t know for sure that’s-that’s why we’re talkin’ to Rose.

Sammy Gotcha!

Ben And our first topic of discussion this evening— was gonna be—

Sammy About the flowers.

Ben Don’t.

Sammy Okay, look. Can we open up the phone lines again? I’d like to talk about these flowers. Uh, you tell King Falls your topic, and then we’ll see what they wanna talk about.

Ben You know they’ll talk about the damn rose wreaths!

Sammy You heard it here, folks. Line 7, you’re on with Sammy and Ben.

Herschel Ugh, I can’t sleep with all this damn racket going on! You two DINGLEBERRIES keep it down!

Sammy *laugh* Herschel??

Herschel Oh, hell. Don’t make me get out of bed and give you a full blast so late at night! [muttered] Don’t even know where my slippers are…

Ben Mr… Baumgartner, you realize you called us, right? This is- the radio station.

Herschel I know who and what I called. I dialed you DICKWHISTLES because all this [mocking] cry-babying about the damn flowers. Turn that jazz fella back on so- so I can get some rest!

Sammy Chet is on from 10 to 2, Mr. Baumgartner. This is Sammy and Ben and we- talk about—

Herschel I don’t give a damn if it’s Tricky Dick Nixon calling to give me a Congressional Medal of Honor! You shut your nose holes about the damn funeral flowers. And play me some heroin-fueled American art! [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy We’re gonna count that as one for the flowers…

Ben Line 14, you’re live on the air.

Creeper Long time listener here!

Sammy [click, dial tone]

Ben Did you hang up, Sammy?

Sammy Yeeaah, sorry. I hate that guy.

Ben Line 3,*chuckles* this is King Falls AM.

Beauregard Good evening, Benjamin. Samuel. This is—

Ben Beauretard?![sic]

Beauregard *sigh* Mr. Howard Ford Beauregard the Third. My man told me that you were spreading more lies than usual on your little “radio show.” I thought I would call and clear the air.

Sammy Mr. Beauregard, can I just say, before this call goes ANY further— that we will not accept any abuse towards us or the listeners of this show.

Beauregard How cute that you think people listen to you two buffoons.

Ben That’s abuse! That’s exactly what we were—

Beauregard Oh, that’s a joke where I come from. You millennials would never have lasted back in my day. With your emotions and feelings and the like.

Ben When was that day, again, Mr. Beauregard?

Beauregard Information about myself and my family, can be found in my international, best-selling e-book, “King of King Falls” … I don’t have to answer to— well— you.

Sammy *sigh* Did you have a reason for the call tonight, Beauregard?

Beauregard Indeed, I do. While men with any couth wouldn’t speak about festivities that they know nothing aboouut—

Sammy So, you’re behind these deliveries?

Ben Also, while I would never name names and throw my friend under a bus— you should know this wasn’t the agreed upon topic of the show.

Sammy Oh, stop it.

Beauregard [agonizingly insincere] I don’t know a thing about the supposed yearly white rose deliveries you speak of. My family, nor myself, have ever been involved with such jovality.[sic] In fact, in all my years I can’t recollect such a thing.

Ben I don’t buy that for a second. Maybe you’ve never sent the roses, and— let’s play devil’s advocate and say, sure, you’ve never received them (which I doubt), but there is No Way you haven’t heard of this.

Beauregard Maybe it’s something you commoners have made up, like, uhh- the tooth fairy or the Illuminati orrr— equal rights for the sexes.

Ben I can’t deal with this guy! Just dump him and let’s take another line.

Sammy Wait… Mr. Beauregard. If you don’t care about this— and, in fact, haven’t even heard of it until tonight— why would you bother to break your Hate-Silence with us to call in?

Beauregard You’re not nearly as dumb as you look, Stevens! And while I continue to honor my statement before— I’d have to assume that this “rose” ordeal is a real thing. It’s probably a very special thing! An intimate invitation sent by the upper echelons of King Falls. A way of making amends or bring people worthy of attention, into a conversation that normally would not have been invited to have.

Ben Just for everyone keeping score at home: I took a college course on Crazy and I believe he is saying he knows that the wreath deliveries are real, and he is probably behind them.

Beauregard Time is money, gentleman. Not that you understand that concept. But instead of painting a ceremony you know nothing about as tragic and scary— perhaps it’s not. Perhaps it’s something more than that, entirely. In any case, it’s not something that should be spoken about in public. [phone pings] Ahhh… I’ll be going now, “gentlemen.” And while I do use that word lightly, perhaps take a break from your radio program and… check your door.

Ben Isss that a threat?

Beauregard Trick-or-Treat, Samuel… Benjamin. [click]

[dial tone]

Sammy I wonder what he sounds like when he has something nice to say to people.

Ben He probably hasn’t said anything nice to a person since the 60s… The 1860s.

Sammy Ya know, I didn’t mean to ruffle anyone’s feathers tonight. Especially crazy old billionaires who try to drive us off the air— so let’s just—

Ben I’M GONNA GO CHECK THE DOOR.

Sammy What?!

Ben Yeah. [chair sliding out] I’m sorry, man. Beauregard gives me the willies [squeak] and I wanna make sure there isn’t—

Sammy A sugar-glider on a noose?

Ben Too far. I was just gonna say— that he hasn’t had Pete ding-dong-ditch us- or something.

Sammy And here I thought the Williams boys had that market cornered.

Ben I’ll be back in a sec. [footsteps rushing off]

Sammy [shouting after him] Don’t talk about Pete that way, Ben! He’s never gonna listen to the show again! Alright, folks. We are just a few hot minutes away from Eli Goldblum coming into the studio to talk about, [ominous bg music starts] uh… I’m guessing- ghosts with lingering mental issues? Ah, sorry— apparitions. [footsteps rushing back] I’m holding out hope for an apparition with multiple personality disorder, but I don’t know if that’s a thing or not… [chair squeak, Ben sitting] Ben? You okay, buddy?

Ben [upset] How many times, did I ask you to stop talking about the stupid, hearse, Sammy?

Sammy What’s wrong?

Ben [sarcastic] Oh, nothing. You wanna go outside and take a look?

Sammy You know, I don’t think I want to. I’m happy with you filling me in.

Ben Well, I didn’t go outside, Sammy! I didn’t have to. I looked out the front window.

[ominous bg music getting louder]

Sammy Yeah? And?

Ben [hissed] damnit

Sammy … Ben. What is going on? Do we need to call Troy?

Ben The whole parking lot- your car, MY car— as far as the lights will let me see— Nothing but white roses, man.

Sammy … Are you serious?

Ben Go look!! Just don’t go out there, huh? It looked like it was snowing, that’s how many of those damn things are out there.

Sammy [scrambling for optimism] What’s the chances that it’s just a non-Halloween bouquet from Emily to you?

Ben ZERO. Zero percent chance, Sammy.

Sammy [seriously] Folks, we’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors.

[KFAM outro]

[CREDITS]

References

[1] Blaxploitation - Blaxploitation or blacksploitation is an ethnic subgenre of the exploitation film that emerged in the United States during the early 1970s. The films, while popular, suffered backlash for disproportionate numbers of stereotypical film characters showing bad or questionable motives, including roles as criminals.

[2] #RedrumRoses - Redrum is from the psychological horror film The Shining. It’s “murder” spelled backward.

[3] “ACME rocket kits and trying to catch a damn bird” - I sincerely hope no one will ever be too young for this reference, but I once had my little brothers ask who Mr. Rogers was so: this is a reference to the Looney Toons cartoons, Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner. In each episode, Coyote repeatedly attempts to catch and eat the Road Runner, a fast-running ground bird, but is never successful. In order to catch the Road Runner, Coyote uses absurdly complex contraptions- most acquired from the mail-order company ACME- to try to catch his prey, which all backfire comically with Coyote often getting injured in slapstick fashion.

#king falls am #king falls #kfam #sammy stevens #Ben Arnold #kfam transcripts #kfam ep12 #pete myers #herschel baumgartner #hfb3

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onegoosemad · 6 years ago

Note

How many chickens do you have?? Also what what kind of chickens are they?

Role call!From left to right, top to bottom- Barbara, isa brown, I wouldn’t usually keep mongrel breeds but… she started as a test run for fox attacks and she has so much personality that now I just love her. She unties my shoelaces if I look away from her too long. She likes to sit in my lap and trill while I pat her.Eileen- isa brown, nasty bitch. I’d sell this bird in an instant but she’s got an impacted crop so I have to fix that first…

Miriam- Red splash blue wyanadotte. My big bitch, she’s around twice the size of the others.

Ace- Double laced silver barnevelder bantam. He’s my sweet boy, but 100% a boy so I have to look at moving him to someone elses property when he starts to crow (and crack on with the wrong girls)

Marianne- Aces sister, Double laced silver barnevelder bantam. Surprisingly, she’s the bravest out of the two, and doesn’t hesitate to follow me around for treats.

Constantine- Black laced gold sebright. Winning show girl for best lace and best size at several shows. She’s being the best mum to five fertile aracauna eggs, and three laced barnevelder eggs.

Unnamed chick1- Wheaten maran. I don’t like to give them names ‘til they’re a bit older because it feels like bad luck (I recently lost all three orpingtons, two to cold and one to a crow attack) but she’s a little over a month old now and safe from crows, I’ll be naming her soon!Unnamed chick 2- Wheaten maran. The little girls brother, he’s going to be absolutely gorgeous when he’s older, starting to get beautiful burgundy feathers on his back. I love this lil’ guy.

Sakura- Japanese bantam. My other winning show girl. I love jap bantams because they sit hilariously close to the ground (basically don’t have legs) and they’re just stubby forms with pointy tails. She’s also being the best mum but to uh… one single infertile egg that miriam laid… you go girl.

I’ve got eight chicks hatching in the coop at the moment, and I’ve got five purebred vorwerk chicks on their way- two days old at this point. I recently sold a few birds at an auction, so I’ve cut my numbers back a little bit. (The auction was the best way to do it- I met everyone buying my birds and I know now that they went to lovely homes). So that makes 9 chooks in the coop, 8 on the way from eggs, and 5 in transit.

Today I candle the little eggies again. Last time I checked them, there were eyes and heads forming, and they’ve begun to wriggle on their own. They go absolutely ham nowadays and wriggle around inside the egg.

My birdies! Thank you for asking about them <3 I’ll take any chance to rave about them!

#chicken #chickens #backyard chickens #hens #rooster #maran #isa brown #barnevelder #japanese bantam #sebright #wyanadotte

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queensdivas · 5 years ago

Text

Family Christmas!

Alright Alright! Just got done watching 6 Underground and Jesus so many shorts and fics are coming. But of course after the requests and update on the great mazzello are updated. But doesn’t mean I can’t start the outline!!!

Thank you @not-john-watsons-blog for this request cause I thought it was super cute and just in time for the season!!!!!

If you’d like to request something please do so and if you want to be tagged let me know!!!!

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday this year!!!!!

Masterlist

Taglist!

@leah-halliwell92 @mexifangorl @i-live-for-queen @its-funny-til-its-not @brianmydear @bonafiderocketqueen @filmslutt @queenwouldyourathers @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

The House of Christmas

By G.K. Chesterton

This world is wild as an old wives' tale,

And strange the plain things are,

The earth is enough and the air is enough

For our wonder and our war;

But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings

And our peace is put in impossible things

Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings

Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening

Home shall men come,

To an older place than Eden

And a taller town than Rome.

To the end of the way of the wandering star,

To the things that cannot be and that are,

To the place where God was homeless

And all men are at home.

Do I regret our elopement? No. Never in a million years do I regret our elopment in Blyth during his tour up around there. But I regret not being able to sit down to meet the rest of his family besides his mother. According to what I’ve seen in his photo albums. He’s got a bunch of aunts and uncles because his family is known for ummm. A lot misfire is exactly what I think is the right word for it. Now one of his Christmas presents I’ve unveiling tomorrow would be considered a misfire to most but to me I’m extremely excited.

Our three hour drive was coming to an end as we reached his home just right outside Leicester England for some big Christmas Eve tradition that’s been breaking since he started with Queen. Which was three years ago so not only am I meeting most of his family for the first time, and not being around for three years, we’re kind of screwed!

I rubbed my eyes a little as I sat up in the car to see John was tapping his hands on the steering wheel at the light. Gosh, it was only a three hour drive yet I felt like I’ve been asleep for about two weeks!

“Well good morning sleeping beauty.” John had his cheeky smile on as I looked over at him to then pull down the visor to make sure I didn’t look like absolute shit. We’re good!

“Sorry I fell asleep. The car was toasty and you know that listening to really jazzy Christmas piano always makes me relax.” Going into my purse to apply a fresh layer of lipstick.

“Relax Iris. You look absolutely beautiful.”

“Yeah well I’ve never had to meet a family before with us being married already so you can understand my nervousness!” Growing up in an orphanage then not being adopted can cause a little different mentality. But no sob story! It’s family time!

“Iris. They’re going to love you no matter because you’re the only women who has stuck by my side longer than most. Like c’mon you already survived a tour schedule like mine so I knew you don’t plan on making a run for the hills.”

“That you’re aware of Deaks.” Smirking at him as we turned into the driveway of the house to see a bunch more cars were all lined up. Before we even climbed out of the car he leaned over to cup my face to start leaving kisses all over my lips then trying to make his way down my neck. Going to be honest we haven’t done the deed since I found out because I’ve been getting cold feet, not sure why.

“John I don’t want to smell like sex meeting your mother.” I pried him off me with a little disappointment groan coming from him. He’ll know tonight and hopefully he’ll understand especially after the idea how I’ll be unveiling this idea. I got John pair of baby shoes, and his mother a cute onsie that says “Grandma’s spoiled angel”. Thought it would be appropriate and hopefully if things go well tonight they’ll enjoy the surprise.

We climbed out of the car as we heard the house was blasting with Christmas music, laughter, and even the sound of popping champagne bottles. What kind of parties does this family enjoy throwing for the holidays? He grabbed the box of gifts as I wrapped my scarf around my neck as we began approaching the house. Before we walked inside I stopped in front of him as I grabbed the box from him, putting it down on the ground then giving him one long kiss.

“I love you John. I know I’ve been acting a little funny these past few weeks. I promise it’s nothing you done because you couldn’t do anything. Except when you accidently dropped the coffee machine right next to my feet.”

“For the hundreth time Iris it was a complete accident!” I always remind him that because seeing him so angry just makes me giggle! I cupped his face again for a quick peck as we saw the light coming from the house.

“HEY! YOU TWO LOVEBIRDS GET IN HERE!” A women screamed as we let go of each other to then begin our journey into the world of what most people say a family hell hole. Never experienced one of these before so get ready Iris, a cultural shock is about to happen.

We walked inside the house to see everyone condensed into the living room, children running all around the place, and what looked like an old man sleeping soundly on the recliner. How is that even possible.

The whole room went dead silent as every single person looked directly at John and I with our layers of coats making us look stuffed. I gulped as I began unzipping my coat till a little girl came running down the stairs.

“UNCLE JOHN!” She screamed as she wrapped herself around his leg.

“My goodness Aurora you have grown!” He laughed as an elderly women came out of the kitchen in a minnie mouse apron. She starred down John as she came marching out of the kitchen, even the child walked away from John. Is she his mother? I’ve always been told (by Chrissy) that if a mother doesn’t approve of their chosen girlfriend then it’s game over oh my god!

She stood directly infront of John as we both looked at her in absolute fear from the fact she might pounce at us! I light wrapped hands around his arm just incase I have to use him as a human shield to protect our child. Sorry John I love you but this baby is a whole lot more important and I know you’d do the exact same thing for me.

“John. You’ve gotten much skinner.” Ya know what no! If I can carry a baby in my body for nine months then I can handle any mother come at me! Okay! Here we go!

“Mrs. Deacon. I’m Iris. I’ve heard such wonderful things about you.” Coming from behind John to hold my hand up to her ready to shake it. She looked directly into my soul as she manuvered herself infront of me with a facial expression I couldn’t even read. She gripped my hand then placed her other one ontop of it. Is his when the mother pile drives you into the floor!? Oh dear God she’s going to kick my ass!

“It’s very lovely to meet you Iris. Please come and get acquainted with everyone. And please call me mom because Mrs. Deacon makes me feel so old.” She began walking me through the living room to see everyone making room for his mother and I to sit down. Looking back at John as he just stood there with his bag of presents in complete utter shock.

“So Iris. I’ll try to quickly introduce everyone before I have to back to into the kitchen to make sure dinner isn’t burned to a crisp. Sitting on the reclriner is great grandfather Phillip. To the left of you is who you would consider your cousin Jessabell and her husband Thomas. They’ve got their children running around here somewhere by the names of Ezekiel, Nathaniel, and Esther. And then to your left is great aunt Piper and great uncle Samuel. Now their children are Booker, Sam, Tara, and then their youngest being Natalie. I’d tell you more but I have to get back into the kitchen.” Trying to remember all these names makes me feel drunk I can’t even drink a glass of wine to help me with this whole meet and greet. God is it weird I kind of need John to bring some sort of easiness at the moment.

“It’s lovely to meet you all.” I squirmed out of my coat for John to grab it and place it behind the couch. He then sat down next to me as I grabbed his hand as he began smiling and greeting the aunts and cousins.

“Wheres your family Iris?” I believe Aunt Piper asked if I remember correctly.

“I umm. Never really had a family till I met your nephew..er if that’s the right word.” They leaned forward in their chairs so eager to listen.

“Let me guess. It was one of those situations where you rebelled from your parents because of them not liking the beatles.” They laughed as my grip around John's hand went a little tighter. I know this stuff still shouldn't bother me but there’s a reason why I don’t enjoy talking about my past because I sadly don’t have one. But at the same time when I do have to meet family and they these kinds of things, I just enjoy coming directly at their necks with this line.

“Well I wouldn’t know teenage rebellion since I never had parents.” With the biggest smile on my face as they sunk back into their chairs as I believe Aurora brought us two cups of water. She climbed up on top of Johns lap.

“Are you my new Aunt?” She asked as I gave her a small nod.

“Yes. I plan on being the coolest Aunt you’ve ever had in your life!” Grabbing her from Johns lap to put her on mine. I bounced her on my legs a little as she was laughing her little head off.

“Dinner is ready!” His mother yelled from the kitchen as she darted off my lap into the kitchen. Everyone went into the kitchen as I sat on the couch with my thumbs going in small circles. I’m still extremely nervous and the fact that ham is now the main course and me being pregnant is making me nauseous. And trying to hide this from John is just the greatest idea I ever had in my existence!

“Feeling better?” Nodding as the smell of that ham slithered its way into the living room and around my nose. My stomach twisted in every possible way but I took in a deep breath to try to hold it back.

“Iris. Is there something you’re not telling

“Are you two planning on joining us or run off?” I think that was one of his uncles came into the room as we got up from the couch to walk in.

I sat down next to his mother as everyone began passing around the serving bowls of mashed potatoes, cranberry, ya know the usual Christmas meal. The rolls were placed infront of me as I grabbed one then the ham appeared before me. Oh boy. I bit the inside of my cheeks to grab one thing of meat and passed it along. Just keep it down! Crap I can’t even have wine to help with the whole stomach thing!

“So John. How’d you find Iris?” The green beans were next as I scooped some onto my plate as John swallowed his roll he had in his mouth. I think they’ll enjoy our little meet and greet story yet I somehow find it a little embarrasing still.

“I was out with the boys one night with a few of our first performances. She was at the bar with her friends and I noticed her from the stage. When we got done I started talking to her and well.” My cheeks were beginning to turn red from what was going to come next.

“This guy came up and was trying to tell me that he already had eyes on her from the other side of the bar.. She punched him in the face when he tried to take my seat.” My hnads covered my face as all the eyes landed on me in complete embarrasment. He kept trying to take his seat what was I supposed to do? Just John get pushed around? Dear God.

“You punched someone?” His great aunt asked as I slowly nodded my head. I promise I don’t believe violence isn’t the answer for everything. But he was literally going to throw John from his seat and I couldn’t just let that happen!

“Awesome!” I moved my hands away from my face to see everyone nodding and then his uncle clapping at what I did. Phew.

“So Iris. What do you do for a living?” His mother asked me as I ripped off a piece of my roll.

“I’m an art teacher at St. Gerard in Basingstoke.” I began diving into the green beans as the rest of the table began chit chatting.

“You know something Iris. It’s been quite sometime since I’ve seen John so bubbly and happy. Not sure if he’s told you that his father died when he was young, and when it happened he changed. Became a brand new person who was afraid to get too close to people. But now to see him here playing with his cousins, it’s really wonderful to see him smile. Enough about that depressing matter, you’re an art teacher?” I nodded as I leaned forward to watch John laughing with the cousin that I don’t think I’ve put a name to a face.

“Yes. At first I just wanted to be an artist for most of my life, but found teaching much more fun.”

“I used to be an artist. Maybe after dinner we can swap some sketches.” She smiled which made my heart feel all warm.

“I would love that.”

The rest of the dinner was getting to know his family, turns out John wanted to be a race car driver as a kid, had a very large interest in all kinds of flowers, and threw his cat down the stairs to see if it would land on all fours. It worked of course because that cat lived on to hate John for the rest of his life. While they were telling me this, I could tell John was completely embarrased but I still found it absolutely hilarious.

“Now John was a lovely child of course, but also extremely sassy which he got from his father more than me. I assume you know about his sassiness?” His mother turned to me as I smirked on his face.

“Of course. Our first date was to see MASH and when the ticket person asked if he needed two tickets. He straight up told him. “Oh my god you can see her? I thought she was just a figmant of my imagination.” Then did that stupid cheeky smile and the guy almost wouldn’t let us in.” John nodded as his mother chuckled a little as I finished the last of my Christmas pudding on my plate.

“Alright I say it’s time for presents!”

We sat down in the living room where himself and his mother sat down with me on the couch as everyone grabbed their gifts. They all began putting their gifts in the middle of the room but no name much be attached, consider it a secret santa yet John and I had no idea. That tends to happen when you’re busy with music and being a primary school teacher. None the less were about to be a very busy family.

The little girl began passing out presents to everyone as she was eager to open hers and even everyone elses. She placed Johns in his lap as he was eager to open his since his curiosity was going absolutely wild. I was given a small box that even got me a little curious as well because truth be told i wasn’t expecting to get anything from anyone.

“We want you to open yours first Iris.” His mother told me as everyone was starring at me again. I ripped apart the wrapping paper apart to see it was a jewlrey box which kept me in even more suspense.

“Even though you just became apart of the family with the rest of us, we’re glad you became apart of it. We thought John was going to grow old alone.” It was a beautiful cameo necklace with a dark gold chain, the pendent was a dark blue with a white marble cut out of a woman on it. I was almost brought to tears as no one in my life has ever given me anything like this before.

“You..you..you’re going to make me cry.” I laughed a little as I got it out of the box to hold it up.

“John. Should’ve told me you’re family was going to make me cry.” I laughed as he helped me to clip it as I kept looking down at it.

“Alright let’s keep going! By the way. I’m cousin Booker from Exeter.” He crawled infront of me as he passed John his gift as he recognized the wrapping paper from our little apartment. The rest of the presents were passed out to everyone as John was in complete curiosity of why giving him the present now instead of on Christmas. His mother had the same wrapping paper as well as I sat there waiting for them to open it.

We finally made it over to John who was eager to open his box. He tore the wrapping paper to shreds immediatly as I kept my smile at bay as much as I could. He’s not expecting this and I know damn well the rest of the lot isn’t as well! Please find the little shoes adorable please find the shoes absolutely adorable!

He opened the box as confusion waved over him as he picked up the little white baby shoes. Looking at me. Back at the shoes. TO me..the shoes..to me..the shoes! C’mon John I know you’re smart! The shoes dropped as the rest of the room waited for him to say it or for it to finally click!

“We’re..you..we..” It looked as if he was going to pass out right infront of us till he pratically threw himself ontop of me as everyone began freaking out.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He smiled as I moved the hair out of his face as cousin Booker pratically pild ontop of us.

“Now do I get to be the cool uncle or what?” Wait what? That..that’s not how that works..at least that’s not how I think it works. Oh well!

“Wait get off don’t squish the baby!” John barked as we looked over to see grandma holding up the onsie in front of her.

“It says Grandma’s spoiled Angel!” Mother cried as I managed to get John off me to see her just starring at it.

“Hope you enjoy being a grandma!” I told her as she put the onsie on her lap to give me a very big hug! Her only son to have her first grandchild has completely made the fact that him and I didn’t have a true wedding has been completely forgotten! Phew.

#john deacon fluff #john richard deacon #John Deacon #John Deacon 70s #John Deacon Christmas #john deacon x reader #John Deacon x oc #Queen #Queen Fan Fic #Brian May #Roger Taylor #Freddie Mercury #Queen Fic #John Deacon Fic #It be some cute shit I think #john deacon fluf

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alcalavicci · 5 years ago

Text

(Disclaimer: if you wrote this and don’t want it up, send me an ask and I’ll take it down)

Snippets of Geordie James’ letters to Claire, May-August 1974

Letter 1:

As you've probably noticed, there aren't enough of us Stockwell fans around. Before my first letter about Dean and Guy was published in the January issue of RBH [Rona Barrett's Hollywood], I felt a bit paranoid in my affection for them. I knew they must have fans somewhere, although maybe few and far-between. Now that I'm corresponding with several other fans of theirs, I can't believe it! I really enjoy exchanging praises about Dean and Guy. They are two subjects I never tire of reading or writing about. I hope you feel the same.

I know that when you wrote your letter, you didn't know how much I adore Dean -- as you've probably guessed by now, I've done as much research as possible on him. The one thing I didn't know about Dean was that he's living with Russ Tamblyn. I had heard from this fellow who wrote a book about former child stars that Dean "lives in Topanga Canyon with a very beautiful roommate." Now Russ Tamblyn is attractive, but I must admit I had something else in mind!

************

Your letter is very interesting and intelligent. This has been the case with all the Dean fans who have written me. If it's true that certain artists attract certain types of fans, I'd say that Dean definitely attracts mature and intelligent people.

Dean fans are generally older than are the fans of others, which prompts me to ask your age, if you don't mind telling me?

About myself -- I'm 27, a Pisces like Dean. In fact, his birthday is the day before mine.

*********

The most up-to-date information I've heard about Dean is that he was in Albuquerque in March of this year, on stage in a comedy called "Relatively Speaking." In an interview from the Albuquerque newspaper, Dean said that he would "prefer to exclude neurotics" in his roles in the future. He complained of being typecast, probably as a result of "Compulsion," his success at playing a poetic, deranged genius, his common character up til now. He said that he would like to do comedy and work with Mel Brooks. Reviews from the play raved that Dean was brilliant in comedy.

How does this news impress you? I ask because I'm wondering if you share my views, which are in complete sympathy with Dean. From that old "Bonanza" segment Dean did, I knew he had comedic sense that was very appealing. If you'll recall, that show opened with Dean playing a drunk, begging for whiskey in the saloon. When taken out of context from the story, that swaying, groping drunkeness showed a great scope for comedy. He is fantastic, able to play it up or down. It is Dean's subtleness, somehow, that makes him so great -- he could never be described as a ham, don't you agree? His acting style is convincing and he makes it look so easy! Just a look, the tiniest gesture, and he says everything. Dean definitely has a charisma, some sort of magic that only a few actors have shared. I often compare Montgomery Clift to Dean, which must be very terrible to do, but I consider Monty to have been the similar type of acting genius Dean is. I'd call it "realism," I guess. When an actor is charged with so much emotion in his work and is able to convey it without over-acting, that's something to praise.

**********

I'm sure I know that look you describe on Dean's face, that disgusted look. When reading this part of your letter, I could see him doing it, so you must have described it well. When I watch the adult Dean acting, I always wait for that subtle, quick scratch. Do you know what I mean? Usually it's his eyebrow that itches him, sometimes his nose. Somehow when I see his scratch, I know everything is all right. I realize I sound a bit like a nut here, but I'm so fond of Dean that I love his little quirks. I think if I ever saw him act when he didn't scratch something, I'd probably think something was wrong. Perhaps I'd better change the subject before I sound like a genuine nut!

*****************

Have you by any chance ever heard from Dean? I ask because no one who's written me has. Personally, I have written Dean half a dozen times at various addresses without any luck. For some time now I have been trying to get in touch with him and ask his permission about starting a fan club for him. All we Dean fans have agreed that we need some means by which we can keep abreast of his career, but the main snag is finding Dean. I'm continuing to try. Right now I have several lines out – if only I can get a bite.

Letter 2:

I agree with you completely in regard to Dean's scope for other characters beyond the neurotic ones. I've read several places about actors and actresses who really suffer prolonged, damaging traumas related to typecasting in neurotic and mercenary roles. Mercedes McCambridge blamed her alcoholism on just such typecasting, as one example. I heard from someone that Bette Davis said that celluloid villains were always the nicest people in Hollywood and now that I consider it, it seems to be so. I think Dean is very together, but all the same it must be very frustrating to see that producers invariably think of him as "the perfect nut" for the part. It is frustrating for any creative person to be confined to one outlet of expression.

"The Happy Years" is one Dean movie I haven't seen, but I'd really love to, especially now after you've described the scene in the classroom. I agree about his flair for comedy, though, in what I have seen of him. What bothers me most about Dean's dissatisfaction is that he just might give up acting, if only temporarily, if producers continue to see him as the perfect nut. This is a secret opinion, never before revealed to another soul, Claire, but have you noticed Dean's lack of enthusiasm for his most recent roles? In particular, that "Police Surgeon" segment, you'll recall, wherein Dean played a prosecuting attorney who was kidnapped in exchange for the mobster he was trying to convict. Dean's fire just wasn't burning very much in that part, unless it was my imagination. Was it? I thought it very refreshing that he played a Good Guy for a change, but something seemed wrong somehow. I don't know if you get "Orson Welles Great Mysteries" there, since we get it here through Canada and it is a British-made series, but Dean was fantastic in that. He had another Good Guy part, as an innocent fellow accused of murdering his girlfriend's husband. What, by the way, do you think of Dean's "ponytail?" I think that I'd love to see his hair let down long -- I'm very curious how he'd look if he "let his hair down." I like long hair on men, anyway, so long as it's not ridiculously long, but in a broader sense Dean's endears me to him more because of its obvious symbolism. Dean is unique, an odd mixture of flashiness and seclusion, a mystery. Someone called him a "male Greta Garbo" and in a way it befits him. I see him as very real, don't you? As a person one could talk to, though I'd probably be terrified to speak to him, I must admit. However, I'd love the chance to be terrified.

"Compulsion," which you mention for its fainting and rape scenes, is one of my favorite Dean films, although I feel like a traitor for saying that, since this movie was the most responsible for his typecasting, it seems. So much was left out of "Compulsion," probably because of the time it was made, but the homosexual relationship, the sado-masochism between Artie and Judd, the helplessness under Judd's superior attitudes. . . so much was trimmed and altered or left out entirely from the book, but Dean put back every word with his eyes, with his gestures, with those melting looks, the never-quite-smiles. For that reason "Compulsion" is one of my favorite films, because never did Dean say so much by saying nothing.

I think my favorite movie from Dean's childhood is "Home Sweet Homicide," so far, but I haven't had the opportunity to see them all. Dean was precious in HSH, don't you think?

Did I tell you last letter about reading how Dean worked as a field laborer in Mexico when he quit acting in his middle teens? I meant to if I didn't. Had you ever read about that?

Letter 3:

Protocol would have me first apologize for the small delay in replying this time and secondly thank you kindly for the adorable pix you copied of Dean for me -- but I know you will forgive me for being rude this time, since I have some fantastic news that just came today. First, I heard from Dean!!! Second, he wrote personally! And thirdly but not leastly, he actually authorized ME to start a FAN CLUB for HIM. Can you believe it? I am so excited that I have scarcely touched the ground all day, as you can imagine. I am absolutely thrilled! He wrote that he has never even felt inclined to endorse a fan club before this, "in all my years," as he phrased it, but recently he has had a change of heart and feels he should "involve" himself in the "give and take" between himself "and those who admire and enjoy my work." He writes a very intelligent letter, needless to say -- and he has told me to go ahead and conduct the club any way I choose and that he will cooperate as much as possible. I repeat, can you believe it? He said I should notify him of receiving this letter and he will write more and contribute information, which of course I did immediately.

***********

As for the fan club we'll be putting together, we will have to start out on a small scale and build through publicity. Of course, you and the other Dean fans who write to me are automatically members, which goes without saying, but we really do need the publicity to reach the masses of Stockwell fans. Have you any suggestions? Any help you can offer would be very much appreciated. I plan to order some printed ads to send here and there and of course I will try Rona -- I have the National Fan Club organization address somewhere -- they print ads, too. Right now I'm so excited that I feel like going door-to-door!

***************

No, I didn't get the Albuquerque interview from Richard. I received it from a very nice woman by the name of Olive White who lives in Albuquerque. She just happened upon my letter in Rona's mag and sent me the available material from the newspaper. We now correspond – she's very nice. Yes, I thought too that it sounded just like Dean to say "a bit of fluff." He has a really unique way of writing and speaking as himself, in my opinion, because he sounds very intelligent and yet very -- "free." If you know what I mean. That's a combination one doesn't find every day.

************

Dean mentioned in his letter that he has just returned from eight weeks location filming in the Phillipine Islands, but he didn't go into detail about it. I asked, of course, and I'll pass that information along to you as soon as he responds again.

I agree with you about that "Police Surgeon" episode Dean guested on. Like you, I feel he just didn't try to get into the part. I'm not sure I understand why an actor would accept a part that he wouldn't really give his best to, expecially when the actor is as gifted as Dean. (Only Dean is as gifted as Dean, come to think of it.) Perhaps it was a question of timing or maybe he was sick or something like that. I know

Dean is a veteran, though, and a trooper, and I'm convinced he could sing and dance with a 104 degree temperature if he wanted to -- I guess, in conclusion, the only thing that makes sense is that Dean didn't want to do the show and yet for some reason or another was obligated to. Perhaps he and the director were at each other's throats two minutes after they were introduced. Any speculations from you? I think I've run out of possibilities.

****************

On the question of Dean's ponytail, all I know is that he apparently had it still in March, during his Albuquerque run. The profile long-shot I received shows it clearly, but the photo was definitely inferior for copying material. I would assume he still wears it, probably lets his hair down at home. I think it's very becoming, don't you?

*****************

About your questions on Dean's marriage [to Millie Perkins], I have no facts, only gossip I've been collecting. I don't know how they met but the implication seems to be that it was through Fox, where both were under contract. They supposedly secretly married on a hiatus together and didn't reveal it til they had to -- they opened a bowling alley together -- how's that for a weird fact? Millie retired from her acting career and refused to fulfill her contract to Fox, which caused her several hassles. The general gossip is that Dean said one actor in the family was enough, what with the nomad's life actors lead and all the separations they might face, so Millie gladly retired, wanting only to be his wife. She followed him everywhere and they faithfully shunned photographers and refused to grant interviews. Naturally, Dean was blamed for making Millie "aloof" since he always had that "aloof" reputation. She married him in her heyday, career-wise, I would assume. In any case, I have a small clipping about Millie's reaction to the divorce which heavily insinuates Dean divorced her, and that she was heartbroken about it for awhile. She pulled herself together, one reporter observed, and was determined to "make a comeback" in films. A footnote to this, though, was that she was blackballed for her behavior during her marriage to Dean.

Letter 4:

As far as Dean's side of the club goes, he's still in there supporting and contributing his best. He said that he has no intention of withdrawing his support (I had feared that he might, since it took him so many years to agree to a fan club). He's sent me quite a bit of information, but more on that in a moment.

***********

The fact of the matter is, Dean has established personal communication with me and I am the only one he has entrusted with his home address and telephone number. In a way I am naturally very honored and in another way, I feel very MEAN indeed having this privilege when you and others love Dean as much as I do. But I'm sure you understand that I can't break Dean's trust because he has really given of himself a great deal to go this far. He told me that he intends to get a post office box number in his home (the city in which he lives, I mean -- Topanga) for the fan club members to use, if they'd care to write.

***************

Dean sent me a monstrous, fat collection of papers -- his biography, a copy of which should be sent to each member. It's several pages long and would cost a fortune for me to copy, just for a few members. Now I'm holding off having it copied myself, as I'd like to know if you could have it copied free of charge?

***************

I have constructed a newsletter about Dean's doings which I am getting copied immediately to be sent to the members of the club.

************

I have spoken to Dean twice and he is really wonderful, Claire! He is very kind and very natural. Naturally he is very intelligent and has an amazing kaleidoscope of interests. What impressed me singularly about Dean from the phone conversations is that he is very real, very easy. He gives one a very calm, happy feeling about things. My biggest thrill happened when Dean went off in a verbal fantasy, when talking about his hottest new interest, a martial arts form called arnis. He started to act, heatedly talking about this martial art. A performance for me alone. I smiled for days afterward!

*****************

I agree with you, I would like the club to be unique and mature, a true reflection of Dean's greatness. I certainly would not want the club to be teenybopperish, as you say, or in any way an embarrassment to Dean.

#stockwell sassies

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